m 


BB 


*  •.. 


Precaution. — Vol.  I.  of  the  complete  series. 


PRECAUTION 


A    NOVEL 


BY 

J.   FENIMORE    COOPER 


'  Be  wise  to-day,  'tis  madness  to  defer — 
To-morrow's  caution  may  arrive  too  late ' 


NEW  YORK 
JOHN  W.  LOVELL  COMPANY 

150  WORTH  STREET,  CORNER  MISSION  PLACE 


TflOW'S 
ttlNG  AND   BOOKBINDING  COMPANY, 


P4 


LIST 


OF  THE  NOVELS  OF  J.  FENIMORE  COOPER,  IN  THE  ORDER  OF 
THEIR  APPEARANCE,  AND  WITH  THE  DATES  OF  THEIR  FIRST 
PUBLICATION. 


1.  Precaution 1821 

2.  The  Spy 1821 

3.  "     Pioneers 1823 

4.  "      Pilot 1823 

5.  Lionel  Lincoln 1825 

6.  Last  of  the  Mohicans 1826 

7.  Red  Rover 1827  j 

8.  The  Prairie     1827  ' 

9.  Wept  of  Wish-ton- Wish . . .  1829 

10.   The  Water- Witch 1830 

n.      "      Bravo 1831 

12.  "      Heidenmauer 1832 

13.  "      Headsman 1833 

14.  "      Monikins 1835 

15.  Homeward  Bound. 18^8 

1 6.  Home  as  Found . . 


17.  The  Pathfinder.   1840 

1 8.  Mercedes  of  Castile 1840 

19.  The  Deerslayer 1841 

20.  "     Two  Admirals 1842 

21.  Wing-and-Wing 1842 

22.  Wyandotte 1843 

23.  Afloat  and  Ashore 1844 

24.  Miles  Wallingford 1844 

25.  Th2  Chainbearer 1845 

26.  Satanstoe 1845 

27.  The  Redskins 1846 

28.  "     Crater 1847 

29.  Jack  Tier 1848 

30.  Oak    Openings 1848 

31.  The  Sea  Lions 1849 

32.  The  Ways  of  the  Hour 1850 


In  voluming  the  books  the  above  order  should  be  fol- 
lowed, with  the  exception  of  the  Leatherstocking  series, 
which  should  be  volumed  according  to  the  sequence  of 
the  tales,  as  follows  :  Deerslayer,  Last  of  the  Mohicans, 
Pathfinder,  Pioneers,  and  Prairie.  These  should  be  intro- 
duced in  the  series  after  "  The  Spy." 


PRECAUTION. 


A  CHAPTER  I. 

"  I  WONDER  if  we  are  to  have  a  neighbor  in  the  Deanery 
soon  ?"  inquired  Clara  Moseley,  addressing  herself  to  a 
small  party  assembled  in  her  father's  drawing-room,  while 
standing  at  a  window  which  commanded  a  distant  view  of 
the  house  in  question. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  her  brother  ;  "  the  agent  has  let  it  to 
a  Mr.  Jarvis  for  a  couple  of  years,  and  he  is  to  take  posses- 
sion this  week." 

"  And  who  is  the  Mr.  Jarvis  that  is  about  to  become  so 
near  a  neighbor  ?  "  asked  Sir  Edward  Moseley. 

"  Why,  sir,  I  learn  he  has  been  a  capital  merchant  ;  that 
he  has  retired  from  business  with  a  large  fortune  ;  that  he 
has,  like  yourself,  sir,  an  only  hope  for  his  declining  years 
in  a  son,  an  officer  in  the  army ;  and,  moreover,  that  he 
has  a  couple  of  fine  daughters  ;  so,  sir,  he  is  a  man  of 
family  in  one  sense  at  least,  you  see.  But,"  dropping  his 
voice,  "whether  he  is  a  man  of  family  in  your  sense,  Jane," 
looking  at -his  second  sister,  "is  more  than  I  could  dis- 


cover." 


"  I  hope  you  did  not  take  the  trouble,  sir,  to  inquire  on 
my  account,"  retorted  Jane,  coloring  slightly  with  vexa- 
tion at  his  speech. 

"  Indeed  I  did,  my  dear  sis,  and  solely  on  your  account," 
replied  the  laughing  brother,  "  for  you  well  know  that  no 
gentility,  no  husband  ;  and  it's  dull  work  to  you  young 
ladies  without  at  least  a  possibility  of  matrimony.  As  for 
Clara,  she  is  — <—' 

Here  he  was  stopped  by  his  younger  sister  Emily  placing 
her  hand  on  his  mouth,  as  she  whispered  in  his  ear, 
"John,  you  forget  the  anxiety  of  a  certain  gentleman 
about  a  fair  incognita  at  Bath,  and  a  list  of  inquiries  con- 
cerning her  lineage,  and  a  few  other  indispensables," 


6  PR  EC  A  UTJON-. 

John,  in  his  turn,  colored,  and  affectionately  kissing  the 
hand  which  kept  him  silent,  addressed  himself  to  Jane,  and 
by  his  vivacity  and  good  humor  soon  restored  her  to  com- 
placency. 

"  I  rejoice,"  said  Lady  Moseley,  "that  Sir  William  has 
found  a  tenant,  however  ;  for  next  to  occupying  it  him- 
self, it  is  a  most  desirable  thing  to  have  a  good  tenant  in 
it,  on  account  of  the  circle  in  which  we  live." 

"  And  Mr.  Jarvis  has  the  great  goodness  of  money,  by 
John's  account,"  caustically  observed  Mrs.  Wilson,  who 
was  a  sister  of  Sir  Edward's. 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  madam,"  cried  the  rector  of  the  par- 
ish, looking  around  him  pleasantly,  and  who  was  a  pretty 
constant  and  always  a  welcome  visitor  in  the  family,  "that 
a  great  deal  of  money  is  a  very  good  thing  in  itself,  and 
that  a  great  many  very  good  things  may  be  done  with  it." 

"  Such  as  paying  tithes,  ha  !  doctor,"  cried  Mr.  Haugh- 
ton,  a  gentleman  of  landed  property  in  the  neighborhood, 
of  plain  exterior,  but  great  goodness  of  heart,  and  be- 
tween whom  and  the  rector  subsisted  the  most  cordial 
good  will. 

"  Ay,  tithes,  or  halves,  as  the  baronet  did  here,  when  he 
forgave  old  Gregson  one-half  his  rent,  and  his  children  the 
other." 

"Well,  but,  my  dear,"  said  Sir  Edward  to  his  wife,  "you 
must  not  starve  our  friends  because  we  are  to  have  a 
neighbor.  William  has  stood  with  the  dining-room  door 
open  these  five  minutes  — 

Lady  Moseley  gave  her  hand  to  the  rector,  and  the 
company  followed  them,  without  any  order,  to  the  dinner- 
table. 

The  party  assembled  around  the  hospitable  board  of  the 
baronet  was  composed,  beside  the  before-mentioned  per- 
sons, of  the  wife  of  Mr.  Haughton,  a  woman  of  much 
good  sense  and  modesty  of  deportment  ;  their  daughter,  a 
young  lady  conspicuous  for  nothing  but  good  nature  ;  and 
the  wife  and  son  of  the  rector — the  latter  but  lately  ad- 
mitted to  holy  orders  himself. 

The  remainder  of  the  day  passed  in  an  uninterrupted 
flow  of  pleasant  conversation,  the  natural  -consequence  of 
a  unison  of  opinions  on  all  leading  questions,  the  parties 
having  long  known  and  esteemed  each  other  for  those 
qualities  which  soonest  reconcile  us  to  the  common  frail- 
ties of  our  nature.  On  parting  at  the  usual  hour,  it  was 
agreed  to  meet  that  day  week  at  the  rectory  ;  and  the 


PRECAUTION.  1 

tor,  on  making  his  bow  to  -  Lady  Moseley,  observed  that 
he  intended,  in  virtue  of  his  office,  to  make  an  early  call 
on  the  Jarvis  family,  and  that,  if  possible,  he  would  per- 
suade them  to  be  of  the  party. 

Sir  Edward  Moseley  was  descended  from  one  of  the  most 
respectable  of  the  creations  of  his  order  by  James.,  and  had 
inherited,  with  many  of  the  virtues  of  his  ancestor,  an  es- 
tate which  placed  him  among  the  greatest  landed  proprie- 
tors of  the  county.  But,  as  it  had  been  an  invariable  rule 
never  to  deduct  a  single  acre  from  the  inheritance  of  the 
eldest  son,  and  the  extravagance  of  his  mother,  who  was 
the  daughter  of  a  nobleman,  had  much  embarrassed  the 
affairs  of  his  father,  Sir  Edward,  on  coming  into  posses- 
sion of  his  estate,  had  wisely  determined  to  withdraw  from 
the  gay  world,  by  renting  his  house  in  town,  and  retiring 
altogether  to  his  respectable  mansion,  about  a  hundred 
miles  from  the  metropolis.  Here  he  hoped,  by  a  course 
of  systematic  but  liberal  economy,  to  release  himself  from 
all  embarrassments,  and  to  make  such  a  provision  for  his 
younger  children,  the  three  daughters  already  mentioned, 
as  he  conceived  their  birth  entitled  them  to  expect.  Sev- 
enteen years  enabled  him  to  accomplish  this  plan  ;  and, 
for  more  than  eighteen  months,  Sir  Edward  had  resumed 
the  hospitality  and  appearance  usual  in  his  family,  and 
had  even  promised  his  delighted  girls  to  take  possession, 
the  ensuing  winter,  of  the  house  in  St.  James's  Square. 
Nature  had  not  qualified  Sir  Edward  for  great  or  contin- 
ued exertions,  and  the  prudent  decision  he  had  taken 
to  retrieve  his  fortunes  was  perhaps  an  act  of  as  much 
forecast  and  vigor  as  his  talents  or  energy  would  afford  ; 
it  was  the  step  most  obviously  for  his  interests,  and  the 
one  that  was  safest  both  in  its  execution  and  consequences, 
and  as  such  it  had  been  adopted  :  but,  had  it  required  a 
single  particle  more  of  enterprise  or  calculation,  it  would 
have  been  beyond  his  powers,  and  the  heir  might  have  yet 
labored  under  the  difficulties  which  distressed  his  more 
brilliant  but  less  prudent  parent. 

The  baronet  was  warmly  attached  to  his  wife,  and  as  she 
was  a  woman  of  many  valuable  and  no  obnoxious  quali- 
ties, civil  and  attentive  by  habit  to  all  around  her,  and 
perfectly  disinterested  in  her  attachments  to  her  own 
family,  nothing  in  nature  could  partake  more  of  perfection 
in  the  eyes  of  her  husband  and  children  than  the  conduct 
of  this  beloved  relative.  Yet  Lady  Moseley  had  her  fail- 
ings, however,  although  few  were  disposed  to  view  her 


8  P&ECA  UTION-. 

errors  with  that  severity  which  truth  and  a  just  discrimi- 
nation  of  character  render  necessary.  Her  union  had  been 
one  of  love,  and  for  a  time  it  had  been  objected  to  by  the 
friends  of  her  husband,  on  the  score  of  fortune  ;  but  con- 
stancy and  perseverance  prevailed,  and  the  protracted  and 
inconsequent  opposition  of  his  parents  had  left  no  other 
effects  than  an  aversion  in  the  children  to  the  exercise  of 
parental  authority,  in  marrying  their  own  descendants — an 
aversion  which,  though  common  to  both  the  worthy  baronet 
and  his  wife,  was  somewhat  different  in  its  two  subjects.  In 
the  husband,  it  was  quiescent;  but  in  the  wife,  it  was  slightly 
shaded  wTith  the  female  esprit  de  corps  of  having  her  daugh- 
ters comfortably  established,  and  that  in  due  season.  Lady 
Moseley  was  religious,  but  hardly  pious  ;  she  was  charita- 
ble in  deeds,  but  not  always  in  opinions  ;  her  intentions 
were  pure,  but  neither  her  prejudices  nor  her  reasoning 
powers  suffered  her  to  be  at  all  times  consistent  Still, 
few  knew  her  that  did  not  love  her ;  and  none  were  ever 
heard  to  say  aught  against  her  breeding,  her  morals,  or 
her  disposition. 

The  sister  of  Sir  Edward  had  been  married,  early  in  life, 
to  an  officer  in  the  army,  who,  spending  much  of  his  time 
abroad  on  service,  had  left  her  a  prey  to  that  solicitude  to 
which  she  was  necessarily  subjected  by  her  attachment  to 
her  husband.  To  find  relief  from  this  perpetual  and  life- 
wearing  anxiety,  an  invaluable  friend  had  pointed  out  the 
only  true  remedy  of  which  her  case  admitted — a  research 
into  her  own  heart,  and  the  employments  of  active  benevo- 
lence. The  death  of  her  husband,  who  lost  his  life  in  bat- 
tle, caused  her  to  withdraw  in  a  great  measure  from  the 
world,  and  gave  time  and  inducement  for  reflections,  which 
led  to  impressions  on  religion  that  were  sufficiently  correct 
in  themselves,  and  indispensable  as  the  basis  of  future 
happiness,  but  which  became  slightly  tinctured  with  the 
sternness  of  her  vigorous  mind,  and  possibly  at  times  were 
more  unbending  than  was  compatible  with  the  comforts  of 
this  world  ;  a  fault,  however,  of  manner,  more  than  of  mat- 
ter. Warmly  attached  to  her  brother  and  his  children, 
Mrs.  Wilson,  who  had  never  been  a  mother  herself,  yielded 
to  their  earnest  entreaties  to  become  one  of  the  family  ; 
and,  although  left  by  the  late  General  Wilson  with  a  large 
income,  ever  since  his  death  she  had  given  up  her  own 
establishment,  and  devoted  most  of  her  time  to  the  forma- 
tion of  the  character  of  her  youngest  niece.  Lady  Mose- 
ley had  submitted  this  child  entirely  to  the  control  of  the 


PRECA  UTJON.  9 

aunt  ;  and  it  was  commonly  thought  Emily  would  inherit 
the  very  handsome  sum  left  at  the  disposal  of  the  general's 
widow. 

Both  Sir  Edward  and  Lady  Moseley  possessed  a  large 
share  of  personal  beauty  when  young,  and  it  had  descended 
in  common  to  all  their  children,  but  more  particularly  to 
their  two  youngest  daughters.  Although  a  strong  family 
resemblance,  both  in  person  and  character,  existed  between 
these  closely-connected  relatives,  yet  it  existed  with  shades 
of  distinction  that  had  very  different  effects  on  their  con- 
duct, and  led  to  results  which  stamped  their  lives  with 
widely-differing  degrees  of  happiness. 

Between  the  families  at  Moseley  Hall  and  the  rectory 
there  had  existed  for  many  years  an  intimacy  founded  on 
esteem  and  on  long  intercourse.  Doctor  Ives  was  a  clergy- 
man of  deep  piety,  and  of  very  considerable  talents  ;  he  po's- 
sessed,  in  addition  to  a  moderate  benefice,  an  independent 
fortune,  in  right  of  his  wife,  who  was  the  only  child  of  a 
distinguished  naval  officer.  Both  were  well  connected, 
well  bred,  and  well  disposed  to  their  fellow-creatures. 
They  were  blessed  with  but  one  child,  the  young  divine 
we  have  mentioned,  who  promised  to  equal  his  father  in 
all  those  qualities  which  had  made  the  doctor  the  delight 
of  his  friends,  and  almost  the  idol  of  his  parishioners. 

Between  Francis  Ives  and  Clara  Moseley  there  had  been 
an  attachment,  which  had  grown  with  their  years,  from 
childhood.  He  had  been  her  companion  in  their  youthful 
recreations,  had  espoused  her  little  quarrels,  and  partici- 
pated in  her  innocent  pleasures,  for  so  many  years,  and 
with  such  an  evident  preference  for  each  other  in  the 
youthful  pair,  that,  on  leaving  college  to  enter  on  the  du- 
ties of  his  sacred  calling  with  his  father,  Francis  rightly 
judged  that  none  other  would  make  his  future  life  as  happy 
as  the  mild,  the  tender,  the  unassuming  Clara.  Their  pas- 
sion, if  so  gentle  a  feeling  deserve  the  term,  received  the 
sanction  of  their  parents,  and  the  two  families  waited  only 
for  the  establishment  of  the  young  divine,  to  perfect  the 
union. 

The  retirement  of  Sir  Edward's  family  had  been  uniform, 
with  the  exception  of  an  occasional  visit  to  an  aged  uncle 
of  his  wife's,  and  who,  in  return,  spent  much  of  his  time 
with  them  at  the  Hall,  and  who  had  openly  declared  his 
intention  of  making  the  children  of  Lady  Moseley  his  heirs. 
The  visits  of  Mr.  Benfield  were  always  hailed  with  joy,  and 
as  an  event  that  called  for  more  than  ordinary  gayety ;  for, 


io  PRECA  UT1ON'. 

although  rough  in  mapner,  and  somewhat  infirm  from 
years,  the  old  bachelor,  who  was  rather  addicted  to  the 
customs  in  which  he  had  indulged  in  his  youth,  and  was 
fond  of  dwelling  on  the  scenes  of  former  days,  was  uni- 
versally beloved  where  he  was  intimately  known,  for  an 
unbounded  though  eccentric  philanthropy. 

The  illness  of  the  mother-in-law  of  Mrs.  Wilson  had 
called  her  to  Bath  the  winter  preceding  the  spring  when 
our  history  commences,  and  she  had  been  accompanied 
thither  by  her  nephew  and  favorite  niece.  John  and  Emily, 
during  the  month  of  their  residence  in  that  city,  were  in 
the  practice  of  making  daily  excursions  in  its  environs.  It 
was  in  one  of  these  little  drives  that  they ^were  of  accidental 
service  to  a  very  young  and  very  beautiful  woman,  appar- 
ently in  low  health.  They  had  taken  her  up  in  their  car- 
riage, and  conveyed  her  to  a  farm-house  where  she  resided, 
during  a  faintness  which  had  come  over  her  in  a  walk  ;  and 
her  beauty,  air,  and  manner,  altogether  so  different  from 
those  around  her,  had  interested  them  both  to  a  painful 
degree.  They  had  ventured  to  call  the  following  day  to 
inquire  after  her  wel-fare,  and  this  visit  led  to  a  slight 
intercourse,  which  continued  for  the  fortnight  they  re- 
mained there. 

John  had  given  himself  some  trouble  to  ascertain  who 
she  was,  but  in  vain.  They  could  merely  learn  that  her 
life  was  blameless,  that  she  saw  no  one  but  themselves,  and 
her  dialect  raised  a  suspicion  that  she  was  not  English.  It 
was  to  this  unknown  fair  Emily  alluded  in  her  playful  at- 
tempt to  stop  the  heedless  rattle  of  her  brother,  who  was 
not  always  restrained  from  uttering  what  he  thought  by  a 
proper  regard  for  the  feelings  of  others. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  morning  succeeding  the  day  of  the  dinner  at  the 
Hall,  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  all  her  nieces  and  her  nephew, 
availed  herself  of  the  fineness  of  the  weather  to  walk  to  the 
rectory,  where  they  were  all  in  the  habit  of  making  in- 
formal and  friendly  visits.  They  had  just  got  out  of  the 

little  village  of  B ,  which  lay  in  their  route,  when  a 

rather  handsome  travelling-carriage  and  four  passed  them, 
and  took  the  road  which  led  to  the  Deanery. 

"As  I  live,"  cried  John,  "there  go  our  new  neighbors 


PRECAUTION.  n 

the  Jarvises  ;  yes,  yes,  that  must  be  the  old  merchant  muffled 
up  in  the  corner  ;  I  mistook  him  at  first  for  a  pile  of  band- 
boxes ;  then  the  rosy-cheeked  lady,  with  so  many  feathers, 
must  be  the  old  lady — Heaven  forgive  me,  Mrs.  Jarvis  I 
mean — ay,  and  the  two  others  the  belles." 

"You  are  in  a  hurry  to  pronounce  them  belles,  John," 
said  Jane,  pettishly  ;  "  it  would  be  well  to  see  more  of 
them  before  you  speak  so  decidedly." 

"  Oh  ! "  replied  John,  "  I  have  seen  enough  of  them,  and  " 
— he  was  interrupted  by  the  whirling  of  a  tilbury  and  tan- 
dem, followed  by  a  couple  of  servants  on  horseback.  All 
about  this  vehicle  and  its  masters  bore  the  stamp  of  de- 
cided fashion  ;  and  our  party  had  followed  it  with  their 
eyes  for  a  short  distance,  when,  having  reached  a  fork  in 
the  roads,  it  stopped,  and  evidently  waited  the  coining  up 
of  the  pedestrians,  as  if  to  make  an  inquiry.  A  single 
glance  of  the  eye  was  sufficient  to  apprise  the  gentleman 
on  the  cushion  (who  held  the  reins)  of  the  kind  of  people 
he  had  to  deal  with  ;  and  stepping  from  his  carriage,  he 
met  them  with  a  graceful  bow,  and  after  handsomely  apol- 
ogizing for  the  trouble  he  was  giving,  he  desired  to  know 
which  road  led  to  the  Deanery.  "  The  right,"  replied  John, 
returning  the  salutation. 

"Ask  them,  colonel,"  cried  the  charioteer,  "whether 
the  old  gentleman  went  right  or  not." 

The  colonel,  in  the  manner  of  a  perfect  gentleman, 
but  with  a  look  of  compassion  for  his  companion's  want  of 
tact,  made  the  desired  inquiry  ;  which  being  satisfacto- 
rily answered,  he  again  bowed,  and  was  retiring,  as  one  of 
several  pointers  who  followed  the  cavalcade  sprang  upon 
Jane,  and  soiled  her  walking-dress  with  his  dirty  feet. 

"  Come  hither,  Dido  !  "  cried  the  colonel,  hastening  to 
beat  the  dog  back  from  the  young  lady  ;  and  again  he 
apologized  in  the  same  collected  and  handsome  manner. 
Then  turning  to  one  of  the  servants,  he  said,  "  Call  in  the 
dog,  sir,"  and  rejoined  his  companion.  The  air  of  this 

fentleman  was  peculiarly  pleasant  ;  it  would  not  have 
een  difficult  to  pronounce  him  a  soldier  had  he  not  been 
addressed  as  such  by  his  younger,  and  certainly  less  pol- 
ished companion.  The  colonel  was  apparently  about 
thirty,  and  of  extremely  handsome  face  and  figure  ;  while 
his  driving-friend  appeared  several  years  younger,  and 
of  altogether  different  material. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Jane,  as  they  turned  a  corner  which 
hid  them  from  view,  "who  they  are  ?" 


12  PRECA  UTION. 

"  Who  they  are  ? "  cried  the  brother  ;  "  why,  the  Jar- 
vises,  to  be  sure  ;  didn't  you  hear  them  ask  the  road  to 
the  Deanery  ? " 

"Oh  !  the  one  that  drove,  he  maybe  a  Jarvis,  but  not  the 
gentleman  who  spoke  to  us — surely  not,  John  ;  besides,  he 
was  called  colonel,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  John,  with  one  of  his  quizzing  expres- 
sions, "  Colonel  Jarvis — that  must  be  the  alderman  ;  they 
are  commonly  colonels  of  city  volunteers  ;  yes,  that  must 
have  been  the  old  gem'mun  who  spoke  to  us,  and  I  was 
right,  after  all,  about  the  bandboxes." 

"You  forget,"  said  Clara,  smiling,  "the  polite  inquiry 
concerning  the  old  gem'mun." 

"  Ah  !  true  ;  who  the  deuce  can  this  colonel  be,  then — 
for  young  Jarvis  is  only  a  captain,  I  know.  Who  do  you 
think  he  is,  Jane  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  think  I  can  tell  you,  John  ?  But,  whoever 
he  is,  he  owns  the  tilbury,  although  he  did  not  drive  it ; 
and  he  is  a  gentleman  both  by  birth  and  manners." 

"  Why,  Jane,  if  you  know  so  much  of  him,  you  should 
know  more  ;  but  it  is  all  guess  with  you." 

"No,  it  is  not  guess  ;  I  am  certain  of  what  I  say." 

The  aunt  and  sisters,  who  had  taken  little  interest  in 
the  dialogue,  looked  at  her  with  some  surprise,  which  John 
observing,  he  exclaimed,  "  Poh  !  she  knows  no  more  than 
we  all  know." 

"  Indeed,  I  do." 

"  Poh,  poh  !  if  you  know,  tell." 

"  Why,  the  arms  were  different." 

John  laughed  as  he  said,  "  That  is  a  good  reason,  sure 
enough,  for  the  tilbury's  being  the  colonel's  property  ;  but 
now  for  his  blood  ;  how  did  you  discover  that,  sis — by  his 
gait  and  actions,  as  we  say  of  horses  ? " 

Jane  colored  a  little,  arid  laughed  faintly.  uThe  arms 
on  the  tilbury  had  six  quarterings." 

Emily  now  laughed,  and  Mrs.  Wilson  and  Clara  smiled, 
while  John  continued  his  teasing  until  they  reached  the 
rectory. 

While  chatting  with  the  doctor  and  his  wife,  -Francis 
returned  from  his  morning  ride,  and  told  them  the  Jarvis 
family  had  arrived.  He  had  witnessed  an  unpleasant  ac- 
cident to  a  gig,  in  which  were  Captain  Jarvis  and  a  friend, 
a  Colonel  Egerton  ;  it  had  been  awkwardly  driven  in  turn- 
ing into  the  Deanery  gate,  and  upset.  The  colonel  re- 
ceived some  injury  to  his  ankle — nothing  serious,  how- 


PRECAUTION.  !| 

ever,  he  hoped  ;  but  such  as  to  put  him  under  the  care  of 
the  young  ladies,  probably,  for  a  few  days.  After  the  ex- 
clamations which  usually  follow  such  details,  Jane  vent- 
ured to  inquire  who  Colonel  Egerton  was. 

"  I  understood  at  the  time,  from  one  of  the  servants, 
that  he  is  a  nephew  of  Sir  Edgar  Egerton,  and  a  lieuten- 
ant-colonel on  half  pay,  or  furlough,  or  some  such  thing." 

"  How  did  he  bear  his  misfortune,  Mr.  Francis  ? "  in- 
quired Mrs.  Wilson. 

"  Certainly  as  a  gentleman,  madam,  if  not  as  a  Christian," 
replied  the  young  clergyman,  slyly  smiling  ;  "  indeed,  most 
men  of  gallantry  would,  I  believe,  rejoice  in  an  accident 
which  drew  forth  so  much  sympathy  as  both  the  Miss  Jar- 
vises  manifested." 

"  How  fortunate  you  should  all  happen  to  be  near  !  " 
said  the  tender-hearted  Clara. 

"Are  the  young  ladies  pretty  ?"  asked  Jane,  with  some- 
thing of  hesitation  in  her  manner. 

"  Why,  I  rather  think  they  are  ;  but  I  took  very  little 
notice  of  their  appearance,  as  the  colonel  was  really  in 
evident  pain.". 

"  This,  then,"  cried  the  doctor,  "  affords  me  an  additional 
excuse  for  calling  on  them  at  an  early  day  ;  so  I'll  e'en  go 
to-morrow." 

"  I  trust  Doctor  Ives  wants  no  apologies  for  performing 
his  duty,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson. 

"  He  is  fond  of  making  them,  though,"  said  Mrs.  Ives, 
speaking  with  a  benevolent  smile,  and  for  the  first  time  in 
the  little  conversation. 

It  was  then  arranged  that  the  rector  should  make  his 
official  visit,  as  intended,  by  himself  ;  and,  on  his  report, 
the  ladies  would  act.  After  remaining  at  the  rectory  an 
hour,  they  returned  to  the  Hall,  attended  by  Francis. 

The  next  day  the  doctor  drove  in,  and  informed  them 
the  Jarvis  family  were  happily  settled,  and  the  colonel  in 
no  danger,  excepting  from  the  fascinations  of  the  two 
young  ladies,  who  took  such  palpable  care  of  him  that  he 
wanted  for  nothing,  and  they  might  drive  over  whenever 
they  pleased,  without  fear  of  intruding  unseasonably. 

Mr.  Jarvis  received  his  guests  with  the  frankness  of  good 
feelings,  if  not  with  the  polish  of  high  life  ;  while  his  wife, 
who  seldom  thought  of  the  former,  would  have  been  mor- 
tally offended  with  the  person  who  could  have  suggested 
that  she  omitted  any  of  the  elegances  of  the  latter.  Hei 
daughters  were  rather  pretty,  but  wanted,  both  in  appear- 


I4  PRECA  UT10N. 

ance  and  manner,  the  inexpressible  air  of  haut  ton  which  so 
eminently  distinguished  the  easy  but  polished  deportment 
of  Colonel  Egerton,  whom  they  found  reclining  on  a  sofa, 
with  his  leg  on  a  chair,  amply  secured  in  numerous  band- 
ages, but  unable  to  rise.  Notwithstanding  the  awkwardness 
of  his  situation,  he  was  by  far  the  least  discomposed  per- 
son of  the  party,  and  having  pleasantly  excused  himself,  he 
appeared  to  think  no  more  of  the  matter. 

The  captain,  Mrs.  Jarvis  remarked,  had  gone  out  with  his 
dogs  to  try  the  grounds  around  them,  "  for  he  seems  to  live 
only  wTith  his  horses  and  his  gun  :  young  men,  my  lady, 
nowadays,  appear  to  forget  that  there  are  any  things  in  the 
world  but  themselves.  Now  I  told  Harry  that  your  lady- 
ship and  daughters  would  favor  us  with  a  call  this  morn- 
ing ;  but  no — there  he  went,  as  if  Mr.  Jarvis  \vas  unable  to 
buy  us  a  dinner,  and  we  should  all  starve  but  for  his  quails 
and  pheasants." 

"  Quails  and  pheasants  !"  cried  John,  in  consternation, 
"does  Captain  Jarvis  shoot  quails  and  pheasants  at  this  time 
of  the  year  ? " 

"  Mrs.  Jarvis,  sir,"  said  Colonel  Egerton,  with  a  correct- 
ing smile,  "  landerstands  the  allegiance  due  from  us  gen- 
tlemen to  the  ladies  better  than  the  rules  of  sporting  ;  my 
friend  the  captain  has  taken  his  fishing-rod,  I  believe." 

"  It  is  all  one,  fish  or  birds,"  continued  Mrs.  Jarvis  ;  "  he 
is  out  of  the  way  wrhen  he  is  wanted,  and  I  believe  we  can 
buy  fish  as  easily  as  birds.  I  wish  he  would  take  pattern 
after  yourself,  colonel,  in  these  matters." 

Colonel  Egerton  laughed  pleasantly,  but  he  did  not 
blush  ;  and  Miss  Jarvis  observed,  with  a  look  of  something 
like  admiration  thrown  on  his  reclining  figure,  that  "when 
Harry  had  been  in  the  army  as  long  as  his  friend,  he 
would  know  the  usages  of  good  society,  she  hoped,  as 
well." 

"Yes,"  said  her  mother,  "  the  army  is  certainly  the  place 
to  polish  a  young  man  ; "  and  turning  to  Mrs.  Wilson,  she 
abruptly  added,  "Your  husband,  I  believe,  was  in  the 
army,  ma'am  ? " 

"  I  hope,"  said  Emily,  hastily,  "  that  we  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  soon;  Miss  Jarvis,  at  the  Hall,"  pre- 
venting by  her  promptitude  the  necessity  of  a  reply  from 
her  aunt.  The  young  lady  promised  to  make  an  early 
visit,  and  the  subject  changed  to  a  general  and  uninterest- 
ing discourse  on  the  neighborhood,  the  country,  the 
weather,  and  other  ordinary  topics. 


PRECA  UTION.  15 

"Now,  John/'  cried  Jane  in  triumph,  as  they  drove 
from  the  door,  "  you  must  acknowledge  my  heraldic 
witchcraft,  as  you  are  pleased  to  call  it,  is  right  for  once 
at  least." 

"  On  !  no  doubt,  Jenny,"  said  John,  who  was  accustomed 
to  use  that  appellation  to  her  as  a  provocation,  when  he 
wished  what  he  called  an  enlivening  scene  ;  but  Mrs. 
Wilson  put  a  damper  on  his  hopes  by  a  remark  to  his 
mother,  and  the  habitual  respect  of  both  the  combatants 
kept  them  silent. 

Jane  Moseley  was  endowed  by  nature  with  an  excellent 
understanding,  one  at  least  equal  to  that  of  her  brother, 
but  she  wanted  the  more  essential  requisites  of  a  well- 
governed  mind.  Masters  had  been  provided  by  Sir  Ed- 
ward for  all  his  daughters,  and  if  they  were  not  acquainted 
with  the  usual  acquirements  of  young  women  in  their  rank 
of  life,  it  was  not  his  fault  :  his  system  of  economy  had 
not  embraced  a  denial  of  opportunity  to  any  of  his  chil- 
dren, and  the  baronet  was  apt  to  think  all  was  done,  when 
they  were  put  where  all  might  might  be  done.  Feeling 
herself  and  parents  entitled  to  enter  into  all  the  gayeties 
and  splendors  of  some  of  the  richer  families  in  their 
vicinity,  Jane,  who  had  grown  up  during  the  temporary 
eclipse  of  Sir  Edward's  fortunes,  had  sought  that  self- 
consolation  so  common  to  people  in  her  situation,  which 
was  to  be  found  in  reviewing  the  former  grandeur  of  her 
house,  and  she  had  thus  contracted  a  degree  of  family 
pride.  If  Clara's  weaknesses  were  less  striking  than  those 
of  Jane,  it  was  because  she  had  less  imagination,  and  be- 
cause that  in  loving  Francis  Ives  she  had  so  long  admired 
a  character  where  so  little  was  to  be  found  that  could  be 
censured,  and  she  might  be  said  to  have  contracted  a  habit 
of  judging  correctly,  without  being  able  at  all  times  to  give 
a  reason  for  her  conduct  or  her  opinions. 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE  day  fixed  for  one  of  the  stated  visits  of  Mr.  Benfield 
had  now  arrived  ;  and  John,  with  Emily,  who  was  the  old 
bachelor's  favorite  niece,  went  in  the  baronet's  post-chaise 

to  the  town  of  F ,  a  distance  of  twenty  miles,  to  meet 

him,  in  order  to  accompany  him  in  the  remainder  of  his 
journey  to  the  Hall  :  it  being  a  settled  rule  with   the  old 


16  PRECA  UTION. 

man  that  his  carriage-horses  should  return  to  their  own 
stables  every  night,  where  he  imagined  they  could  alone 
find  that  comfort  and  care  to  which  their  age  and  services 
gave  them  a  claim.  The  day  was  uncommonly  pleasant, 
and  the  young  people  were  in  high  spirits  with  the  ex- 
pectation of  meeting  their  respected  relative,  whose  ab- 
sence had  been  prolonged  a  few  days  by  a  severe  fit  of  the 
gout. 

"  Now,  Emily,"  cried  John,  as  he  settled  himself  com- 
fortably by  the  side  of  his  sister  in  the  chaise,  "  let  me 
know  honestly  how  you  like  the  Jarvises,  and  particularly 
how  you  like  the  handsome  colonel." 

"  Then,  John,  honestly,  I  neither  like,  nor  dislike  the 
Jarvises  or  the  handsome  colonel." 

"  Well,  then,  there  is  no  great  diversity  in  our  senti- 
ments, as  Jane  would  say." 

"John!" 

"  Emily !  " 

"  I  do  not  like  to  hear  you  speak  so  disrespectfully  of 
our  sister,  whom  I  am  sure  you  love  as  tenderly  as  I  do 
myself." 

"  I  acknowledge  my  error,"  said  the  brother,  taking  her 
hand  and  affectionately  kissing  it,  "  and  will  endeavor  to 
offend  no  more  ;  but  this  Colonel  Egerton,  sister,  is  cer- 
tainly a  gentleman,  both  by  blood  and  in  manners,  as  Jane" 
— Emily  interrupted  him  with  a  laugh,  which  John  took 
very  good-naturedly,  repeating  his  remark  without  alluding 
to  their  sister. 

"Yes,"  said  Emily,  "he  is  genteel  in  his  deportment,  if 
that  be  what  you  mean  ;  I  know  nothing  of  his  family." 

"Oh,  I  have  taken  a  peep  into  Jane's  'Baronetage,' 
where  I  find  him  set  down  as  Sir  Edgar's  heir." 

"  There  is  something  about  him,"  said  Emily,  musing, 
"that  I  do  not  much  admire  ;  he  is  too  easy — there  is  no 
nature.  I  always  feel  afraid  such  people  will  laugh  at  me 
as  soon  as  my  back  is  turned,  and  for  those  very  things 
they  seem  most  to  admire  to  my  face.  If  I  might  be  allowed 
to  judge,  I  should  say  his  manner  wants  one  thing,  without 
which  no  one  can  be  truly  agreeable." 

"  What's  that  ? " 

"  Sincerity." 

"  Ah  !  that's  my  great  recommendation.  But  I  am  afraid 
I  shall  have  to  take  the  poacher  up,  with  his  quails  and 
his  pheasants,  indeed." 

"You  know  the  colonel  explained  that  to  be  a  mistake," 


PRECA  UTIOM  i7 

"  What  they  call  explaining  away  ;  but,  unluckily,  I  saw 
the  gentleman  returning  withMiis  gun  on  his  shoulder,  and 
followed  by  a  brace  of  pointers." 

"  There's  a  specimen  of  the  colonel's  manners,  then," 
said  Emily,  smiling  ;  "it  will  do  until  the  truth  be  known." 

"  And  Jane,  when  she  saw  him  also,  praised  his  good 
nature  and  consideration,  in  what  she  was  pleased  to  call 
relieving  the  awkwardness  of  my  remark." 

Emily,  finding  her  brother  disposed  to  dwell  on  the 
foibles  of  Jane,  a  thing  he  was  rather  addicted  to  at  times, 
was  silent.  They  rode  some  distance  before  John,  who 
was  ever  as  ready  to  atone  as  he  was  to  offend,  again 
apologized,  again  promised  reformation,  and  during  the  re- 
mainder of  the  ride  only  forgot  himself  twice  more  in  the 
same  way. 

They  reached  F—  -  two  hours  before  the  lumbering 
coach  of  their  uncle  drove  into  the  yard  of  the  inn,  and  had 
sufficient  time  to  refresh  their  own  horses  for  the  journey 
homeward. 

Mr.  Benfield  was  a  bachelor  of  eighty,  but  retained  the 
personal  activity  of  a  man  of  sixty.  He  was  strongly  at- 
tached to  all  the  fashions  and  opinions  of  his  youth,  during 
which  he  had  sat  one  term  in  Parliament,  having  been  a 
great  beau  and  courtier  in  the  commencement  of  the  reign. 
A  disappointment  in  an  affair  of  the  heart  drove  him  into 
retirement ;  and  for  the  last  fifty  years  he  had  dwelt  ex- 
clusively at  a  seat  he  owned  within  forty  miles  of  Moseley 
Hall,  the  mistress  of  which  was  the  only  child  bf  his  only 
brother.  In  figure,  he  was  tall  and  spare,  very  erect  for 
his  years  ;  and  he  faithfully  preserved  in  his  attire,  ser- 
vants, carriages,  and  indeed  everything  around  him,  as 
much  of  the  fashions  of  his  youth  as  circumstances  would 
allow.  Such,  then,  was  a  faint  outline  of  the  character 
and  appearance  of  the  old  man,  who,  dressed  in  a  cocked 
hat,  bag-wig,  and  sword,  took  the  offered  arm  of  John 
Moseley  to  alight  from  his  coach. 

"So,"  cried  the  old  gentleman,  having  made  good  his 
footing  on  the  ground,  as  he  stopped  short  and  stared 
John  in  the  face,  "  you  have  made  out  to  come  twenty 
miles  to  meet  an  old  cynic,  have  you,  sir  ?  But  I  thought 
I  bid  thee  bring  Emmy  with  thee." 

John  pointed  to  the  window,  where  his  sister  stood  anx- 
iously watching  her  uncle's  movements.  On  catching  her 
eye,  he  smiled  kindly,  and  pursued  his  way  into  the  house, 
talking  to  himself. 


18  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

"  Ay,  there  she  is,  indeed.  I  remember  now,  when  1 
was  a  youngster,  of  going  with  my  kinsman,  old  Lord 
Gosford,  to  meet  his  sister,  the  Lady  Juliana,  when  she 
first  came  from  school" — this  was  the  lady  whose  infidelity 
had  driven  him  from  the  world — "  and  a  beauty  she  was 
indeed,  something  like  Emmy  there  ;  only  she  was  taller, 
and  her  eyes  were  black,  and  her  hair  too,  that  was  black  ; 
and  she  was  not  so  fair  as  Emmy,  and  she  was  fatter,  and 
she  stooped  a  little — very  little.  Oh  !  they  are  wonderfully 
alike,  though  ;  don't  you  think  they  were,  nephew?"  He 
stopped  at  the  door  of  the  room  ;  while  John,  who  in  his 
description  could  not  see  a  resemblance  which  existed  no- 
where but  in  the  old  man's  affections,  was  fain  to  say, 
"  Yes  ;  but  they  were  related,  you  know,  uncle,  and  that 
explains  the  likeness." 

"True,  boy,  true,"  said  his  uncle,  pleased  at  a  reason 
for  a  thing  he  wished  and  which  flattered  his  propensities. 
He  had  once  before  told  Emily  she  put  him  in  mind  of  his 
housekeeper,  a  woman  as  old  as  himself,  and  without  a 
tooth  in  her  head. 

On  meeting  his  niece,  Mr.  Benfield — who,  like  many 
others  that  feel  strongly,  wore  in  common  the  affectation 
of  indifference  and  displeasure — yielded  to  his  fondness, 
and  folding  her  in  his  arms,  kissed  her  affectionately,  while 
a  tear  glistened  in  his  eye  ;  and  then  pushing  her  gently 
from  him  he  exclaimed,  "  Come,  come,  Emmy,  don't 
strangle  me,  don't  strangle  me,  girl  ;  let  me  live  in  peace 
the  little  while  I  have  to  remain  here — so,"  seating  himself 
composedly  in  an  arm-chair  his  niece  had  placed  for  him 
with  a  cushion,  "  so  Anne  writes  me,  Sir  William  Harris 
has  let  the  Deanery." 

"  Oh,  yes,  uncle,"  cried  John. 

"  I'll  thank  you,  young  gentleman,"  said  Mr.  Benfield, 
sternly,  "not  to  interrupt  me  when  I  am  speaking  to  a 
lady  ;  that  is,  if  you  please,  sir.  Then  Sir  William  has  let 
the  Deanery  to  a  London  merchant,  a  Mr.  Jarvis.  Now  I 
knew  three  people  of  that  name  ;  one  was  a  hackney  coach- 
man, when  I  was  a  member  of  the  Parliament  of  this  realm, 
and  drove  me  often  to  the  House  ;  another  was  mlet-de- 
chambre  to  my  Lord  Gosford  ;  and  the  third,  I  take  it,  is 
the  very  man  who  has  become  your  neighbor.  If  it  be  the 
person  I  mean,  Emmy  dear,  he  is  like — like — aye,  very  like 
old  Peter,  my  steward." 

John,  unable  to  contain  his  mirth  at  this  discovery  of  a 
likeness  between  the  prototype  of  Mr.  Benfield  himself  in 


PRECA  UTION. 


ig 


leanness  of  figure,  and  the  jolly  rotundity  of  the  merchant, 
was  obliged  to  leave  the  room  ;  Emily,  though  she  could 
not  forbear  smiling  at  the  comparison,  quietly  said,  "  You 
will  meet  him  to-morrow,  dear  uncle,  and  then  you  will  be 
able  to  judge  for  yourself." 

"Yes,  yes,"  muttered  the  old  man,  "very  like  old  Peter, 
my  steward  ;  as  like  as  two  peas."  The  parallel  was  by  no 
means  as  ridiculous  as  might  be  supposed  ;  its  history  be- 
ing as  follows  : 

Mr.  Benfield  had  placed  twenty  thousand  pounds  in  the 
hands  of  a  broker,  with  positive  orders  for  him  to  pay  it  away 
immediately  for  government  stock,  bought  by  the  former  on 
his  account  ;  but  disregarding  this  injunction,  the  broker 
had  managed  the  transaction  in  such  a  way  as  to  postpone 
the  payment,  until,  on  his  failure,  he  had  given  up  that  and 
a  much  larger  sum  to  Mr.  Jarvis,  to  satisfy  what  he  called  an 
honorary  debt.  In  elucidating  the  transaction  Mr.  Jarvis 
paid  Benfield  Lodge  a  visit,  and  honestly  restored  the 
bachelor  his  property.  This  act  and  the  high  opinion  he 
entertained  of  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  his  unbounded  love  for 
Emily,  were  the  few  things  which  prevented  his  believing 
some  dreadful  judgment  was  about  to  visit  this  world  for 
its  increasing  wickedness  and  follies.  As  his  own  stew- 
ard was  one  of  the  honestest  fellows  living,  he  had  ever 
after  fancied  that  there  was  a  personal  resemblance  be- 
tween him  and  the  conscientious  merchant. 

The  horses  being  ready,  the  old  bachelor  was  placed  care- 
fully between  his  nephew  and  niece,  and  in  that  manner 
they  rode  on  quietly  to  the  Hall,  the  dread  of  accident 
keeping  Mr.  Benfield  silent  most  of  the  way.  On  passing, 
however,  a  stately  castle,  about  ten  miles  from  the  termi- 
nation of  their  ride,  he  began  one  of  his  speeches  with, 

"  Emmy,  dear,  does  Lord  Bolton  come  often  to  see  you  ? " 

"Very  seldom,  sir  ;  his  employment  keeps  him  much  of 
his  time  at  St.  James's,  and  then  he  has  an  estate  in  Ire- 
land." 

"  I  knew  his  father  well — he  was  distantly  connected  by 
marriage  with  my  friend  Lord  Gosford  ;  you  could  not 
remember  him,  I  suspect"  (John  rolled  his  eyes  at  this 
suggestion  of  his  sister's  recollection  of  a  man  who  had 
been  forty  years  dead)  ;  "  he  always  voted  with  me  in  the 
Parliament  of  this  realm  ;  he  was  a  thoroughly  honest 
man  ;  very  much  such  a  man  to  look  at  as  Peter  Johnson, 
my  steward  ;  but  I  am  told  his  son  likes  the  good  things 
of  the  ministry  ;  well,  well,  William  Pitt  was  the  only  min- 


2o  PRECA  UT1ON. 

ister  to  my  mind.  There  was  the  Scotchman  of  whom  they 
made  a  marquis  ;  I  never  could  endure  him — always  voted 
against  him." 

"  Right  or  wrong,  uncle,"  cried  John,  who  loved  a  little 
mischief  in  his  heart. 

"  No,  sir— right,  but  never  wrong.  Lord  Gosford  always 
voted  against  him  too  ;  and  do  you  think,  jackanapes,  that 
my  friend  the  Earl  of  Gosford  and — and — myself  were  ever 
wrong  ?  No,  sir,  men  in  my  day  were  different  creatures 
from  what  they  are  now :  we  were  never  wrong,  sir ;  we  loved 
our  country,  and  had  no  motive  for  being  in  the  wrong." 

"  How  was  it  with  Lord  Bute,  uncle  ? " 

"  Lord  Bute,  sir,"  cried  the  old  man,  with  great  warmth, 
"was  the  minister,  sir — he  was  the  minister;  ay,  he  was 
the  minister,  sir,  and  was  paid  for  what  he  did," 

"  But  Lord  Chatham,  was  he  not  the  minister  too  ?. " 

Now  nothing  vexed  the  old  gentleman  more  than  to  hear 
William  Pitt  called  by  his  tardy  honors  ;  and  yet,  unwilling 
to  give  up  what  he  thought  his  political  opinions,  he  ex- 
claimed, with  an  unanswerable  positiveness  of  argument, 

"  Billy  Pitt,  sir,  was  the  minister,  sir ;  but — but — but,  he 
was  our  minister,  sir." 

Emily,  unable  to  see  her  uncle  agitated  by  such  useless 
disputes,  threw  a  reproachful  glance  on  her  brother  as  she 
observed,  timidly, 

"That  was  a  glorious  administration,  sir,  I  believe." 

"Glorious  indeed  L  Emmy  dear,"  said  the  bachelor,  soft- 
ening with  the  sound  of  her  voice  and  the  recollections  of 
his  younger  days  ;  "  we  beat  the  French  everywhere — in 
America — in  Germany  ; — we  took,"  counting  on  his  fingers, 
"  we  took  Quebec — yes,  Lord  Gosford  lost  a  cousin  there  ; 
and  we  took  all  the  Canadas  ;  and  we  took  their  fleets  : 
there  was  a  young  man  killed  in  the  battle  between  Hawke 
and  Conflans,  who  was  much  attached  to  Lady  Juliana — 
poor  soul !  how  much  she  regretted  him  when  dead,  though 
she  never  could  abide  him  when  living — ah  !  she  was  a 
tender-hearted  creature  ! " 

Mr.  Benfield,  like  many  others,  continued  to  love  im- 
aginary qualities  in  his  mistress,  long  after  her  heartless 
coquetry  had  disgusted  him  with  her  person  :  a  kind  of 
feeling  which  springs  from  self-love,  which  finds  it  neces- 
sary to  seek  consolation  in  creating  beauties  that  may 
justify  our  follies  to  ourselves,  and  which  often  keeps  alive 
the  semblance  of  the  passion  when  even  hope,  or  real  ad- 
miration, is  extinct. 


PRECA  UTION.  51 

On  reaching  the  Hall  every  one  was  rejoiced  to  see  their 
really  affectionate  and  worthy  relative,  and  the  evening 
passed  in  the  tranquil  enjoyment  of  the  blessings  which 
Providence  had  profusely  scattered  around  the  family  of 
the  baronet,  but  which  are  too  often  hazarded  by  a  neglect 
of  duty  that  springs  from  too  great  security,  or  an  indo- 
lence which  renders  us  averse  to  the  precaution  necessary 
to  insure  their  continuance. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"You  are  welcome,  Sir  Edward,"  said  the  venerable 
rector,  as  he  took  the  baronet  by  the  hand  ;  "  I  was  fear- 
ful a  return  of  your  rheumatism  would  deprive  us  of  this 
pleasure,  and  prevent  my  making  you  acquainted  with  the 
new  occupants  of  the  Deanery,  who  have  consented  to 
dine  with  us  to-day,  and  to  whom  I  have  promised,  in 
particular,  an  introduction  to  Sir  Edward  Moseley." 

"  I  thank  you,  my  dear  doctor,"  rejoined  the  baronet ; 
"I  have  not  only  come  myself,  but  have  persuaded  Mr. 
Benfield  to  make  one  of  the  party  ;  there  he  comes,  lean- 
ing on  Emily's  arm,  and  finding  fault  with  Mrs.  Wilson's 
new-fashioned  barouche,  which  he  says  has  given  him 
cold." 

The  rector  received  the  unexpected  guest  with  the  kind- 
ness of  his  nature,  and  an  inward  smile  at  the  incongruous 
assemblage  he  was  likely  to  have  around  him  by  the 
arrival  of  the  Jarvises,  who  at  that  moment  drove  to  his 
door.  The  introductions  between  the  baronet  and  the 
new  comers  had  passed,  and  Miss  Jarvis  had  made  a  pret- 
tily worded  apology  on  behalf  of  the  colonel,  who  was  not 
yet  well  enough  to  come  out,  but  whose  politeness  had  in- 
sisted on  their  not  remaining  at  home  on  his  account,  as 
Mr.  Benfield,  having  composedly  put  on  his  spectacles, 
walked  deliberately  up  to  the  place  where  the  merchant 
had  seated  himself,  and  having  examined  him  through  his 
glasses  to  his  satisfaction,  took  them  off,  and  carefully 
wiping  them,  he  began  to  talk  to  himself  as  he  put  them 
into  his  pocket — "  No,  no  ;  it's  not  Jack,  the  hackney 
coachman,  nor  rny  Lord  Gosford's  gentleman,  but " — cor- 
dially holding  out  both  hands — "  it's  the  man  who  saved 
my  twenty  thousand  pounds." 

'Mr.  Jarvis,  whom  shame  and  embarrassment  had  kept 


22  PRECA  UTION. 

silent  during  this  examination,  exchanged  greetings  sin- 
cerely with  his  old  acquaintance,  who  now  took  a  seat  in 
silence  by  his  side  ;  while  his  wife,  whose  face  had  begun 
to  kindle  with  indignation  at  the  commencement  of  the 
old  gentleman's  soliloquy,  observing  that  somehow  or  other 
it  had  not  only  terminated  without  degradation  to  her 
spouse,  but  with  something  like  credit,  turned  compla- 
cently to  Mrs.  Ives,  with  an  apology  for  the  absence  of 
her  son. 

"  I  cannot  divine,  ma'am,  where  he  has  got  to  ;  he  is 
ever  keeping  us  waiting  for  him."  And,  addressing  Jane, 
"  These  military  men  become  so  unsettled  in  their  habits, 
that  I  often  tell  Harry  he  should  never  quit  the  camp." 

"  In  Hyde  Park,  you  should  add,  my  dear,  for  he  has 
never  been  in  any  other,"  bluntly  observed  her  hus- 
band. 

To  this  speech  no  reply  was  made,  but  it  was  evidently 
little  relished  by  the  ladies  of  the  family,  who  were  a  good 
deal  jealous  of  the  laurels  of  the  only  hero  their  race  had 
ever  produced.  The  arrival  and  introduction  of  the  cap- 
tain himself  changed  the  discourse,  which  turned  on  the 
comforts  of  their  present  residence. 

"  Pray,  my  lady,"  cried  the  captain,  who  had  taken  a 
chair  familiarly  by  the  side  of  the  baronet's  wife,  "why  is 
the  house  called  the  Deanery  ?  I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  taken 
for  a  son  of  the  Church,  when  I  invite  my  friends  to  visit 
my  father  at  the  Deanery." 

"  But  you  may  add  at  the  same  time,  sir,  if  you  please," 
dryly  remarked  Mr.  Jarvis,  "that  it  is  occupied  by  an  old 
man  who  has  been  preaching  and  lecturing  all  his  life  ; 
and,  like  others  of  the  trade,  I  believe,  in  vain." 

"  You  must  except  our  good  friend  the  doctor  here,  at 
least,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  who,  observing  that  her  sister 
shrank  from  a  familiarity  she  was  unused  to,  took  upon 
herself  the  office  of  replying  to  the  captain's  question. 
"  The  father  of  the  present  Sir  William  Harris  held  that 
station  in  the  Church  ;  and,  although  the  house  was  his 
private  property,  it  took  its  name  from  the  circumstance, 
which  has  been  continued  ever  since." 

"  Is  it  not  a  droll  life  Sir  William  leads,"  cried  Miss 
Jarvis,  looking  at  John  Moseley,  "  riding  about  all  summer 
from  one  watering-place  to  another,  and  letting  his  house 
year  after  year  in  the  manner  he  does  ?  " 

"  Sir  William,"  said  Doctor  Ives,  gravely,  "  is  devoted  to 
his  daughter's  wishes  ;  and,  since  his  accession  to  his  title, 


PRRCA  VTTON-.  23 

has  come  into  possession  of  another  residence  in  an  ad- 
joining county,  which,  I  believe,  he  retains  in  his  own 
hands." 

"  Are  you  acquainted  with  Miss  Harris  ? "  continued  the 
lady,  addressing  herself  to  Clara  ;  though,  without  waiting 
for  an  answer,  she  added,  "she  is  a  great  belle — all  the 
gentlemen  are  dying  for  her." 

"  Or  her  fortune,"  said  her  sister,  with  a  pretty  toss  of 
the  head  ;  "  for  my  part,  I  never  could  see  anything  so 
captivating  in  her,  although  so  much  is  said  about  her  at 
Bath  and  Brighton." 

"You  know  her,  then,"  mildly  observed  Clara. 

"  Why,  I  cannot  say — we  are  exactly  acquainted,"  the 
young  lady  hesitatingly  answered,  coloring  violently. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  exactly  acquainted,  Sally  ?  "  put 
in  the  father,  with  a  laugh  ;  "  did  you  ever  speak  to,  or 
were  you  ever  in  a  room  with  her,  in  your  life,  unless  it 
might  be  at  a  concert  or  a  ball  ? " 

The  mortification  of  Miss  Sarah  was  too  evident  for  con- 
cealment, and  it  happily  was  relieved  by  a  summons  to 
dinner. 

"  Never,  my  dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson  to  Emily — the 
aunt  being  fond  of  introducing  a  moral  from  the  occasional 
incidents  of  every-day  life — "  never  subject  yourself  to  a 
similar  mortification,  by  commenting  on  the  characters  of 
those  you  don't  know  :  ignorance  makes  you  liable  to  great 
errors  ;  and  if  they  should  happen  to  be  above  you  in  life, 
it  will  only  excite  their  contempt,  should  it  reach  their 
ears,  while  those  to  whom  your  remarks  are  made  will 
think  it  envy." 

"Truth  is  sometimes  blundered  on,"  whispered  John, 
who  held  his  sister's  arm,  waiting  for  his  aunt  to  precede 
them  to  the  dining-room. 

The  merchant  paid  too  great  a  compliment  to  the  rector's 
dinner  to  think  of  renewing  the  disagreeable  conversation  ; 
and  as  John  Moseley  and  the  young  clergyman  were  seated 
next  the  two  ladies,  they  soon  forgot  what,  among  them- 
selves, they  would  call  their  father's  rudeness,  in  receiving 
the  attentions  of  a  couple  of  remarkably  agreeable  young 
men. 

"  Pray,  Mr.  Francis,  when  do  you  preach  for  us?"  asked 
Mr.  Haughton  ;  "  I'm  very  anxious  to  hear  you  hold  forth 
from  the  pulpit,  where  I  have  so  often  heard  your  father 
with  pleasure.  I  doubt  not  you  will  prove  orthodox,  or 
you  will  be  the  only  man,  I  believe,  in  the  congregation. 


24  PR  RCA  UTIOtf. 

the  rector  has  left  in  ignorance  of  the  theory  of  our  relig. 
ion,  at  least." 

The  doctor  bowed  to  the  compliment,  as  he  replied  to 
the  question  for  his  son,  that  on  the  next  Sunday  they  were 
to  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  Frank,  who  had  promised 
to  assist  him  on  that  day. 

"  Any  prospects  of  a  living  soon  ? "  continued  Mr. 
Haughton,  helping  himself  bountifully  to  a  piece  of  plum- 
pudding  as  he  spoke.  John  Moseley  laughed  aloud,  and 
Clara  blushed  to  the  eyes ;  while  the  doctor,  turning  to  Sir 
Edward,  observed,  with  an  air  of  interest,  "  Sir  Edward, 
the  living  of  Bolton  is  vacant,  and  I  should  like  exceed- 
ingly to  obtain  it  for  my  son.  The  advowson  belongs  to 
the  earl,  who  will  dispose  of  it  only  to  great  interest,  I  am 
afraid." 

Clara  was  certainly  too  busily  occupied  in  picking  rai- 
sins'from  her  pudding  to  hear  this  remark,  but  accidentally 
stole,  from  under  her  long  eyelashes,  a  timid  glance  at  her 
father,  as  he  replied — 

"  I  am  sorry,  my  friend,  I  have  not  sufficient  interest 
with  his  lordship  to  apply  on  my  own  account  ;  but  he  is 
so  seldom  here,  we  are  barely  acquainted  " — and  the  good 
baronet  looked  really  concerned. 

"  Clara,"  said  Francis  Ives,  in  a  low  and  affectionate  tone, 
"  have  you  read  the  books  I  sent  you  ?  " 

Clara  answered  him  with  a  smile  in  the  negative,  but 
promised  amendment  as  soon  as  she  had  leisure. 

"  Do  you  ride  much  on  horseback,  Mr.  Moseley  ?  "  ab- 
ruptly asked  Miss  Sarah,  turning  her  back  on  the  young 
divine,  and  facing  the  gentleman  she  addressed.  John, 
who  was  now  hemmed  in  between  the  sisters,  replied  with 
a  rueful  expression  that  brought  a  smile  into  the  face  of 
Emily,  who  was  placed  opposite  to  him — 

"Yes,  ma'am,  and  sometimes  I  am  ridden." 

"  Ridden,  sir  !  what  do  you  mean  by  that !  " 

"  Oh  !  only  my  aunt  there  occasionally  gives  me  a  lect- 
ure." 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  lady,  pointing  slyly  with  her 
finger  at  her  own  father. 

"  Does  it  feel  good  ? "  John  inquired,  with  a  look  of  great 
sympathy.  But  the  lady,  who  now  felt  awkwardly"  without 
knowing  exactly  why,  shook  her  head  in  silence,  and  forced 
a  faint  laugh. 

"  Whom  have  we  here  ? "  cried  Captain  Jarvis,  who  was 
looking  out  at  a  window  which  commanded  a  view  of  the 


PR  EC  A  UTIOtf.  25 

approach  to  the  house — "the  apothecary  and  his  attendant, 
judging  from  the  equipage." 

The  rector  threw  an  inquiring  look  on  a  servant,  who 
told  his  master  they  were  strangers  to  him. 

"  Have  them  shown  up,  doctor,"  cried  the  benevolent 
baronet,  who  loved  to  see  every  one  as  happy  as  himself, 
"  and  give  them  some  of  your  excellent  pasty,  for  the  sake 
of  hospitality  and  the  credit  of  your  cook,  I  beg  of  you." 

As  this  request  was  politely  seconded  by  others  of  the 
party,  the  rector  ordered  his  servants  to  show  in  the 
strangers. 

On  opening  the  parlor  door,  a  gentleman,  apparently 
sixty  years  of  age,  appeared,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  youth 
of  five-and-twenty.  There  was  sufficient  resemblance  be- 
tween the  two  for  the  most  indifferent  observer  to  pro- 
nounce them  father  and  son  ;  but  the  helpless  debility  and 
emaciated  figure  of  the  former  were  finely  contrasted  by 
the  vigorous  health  and  manly  beauty  of  the  latter,  who 
supported  his  venerable  parent  into  the  room  with  a  grace 
and  tenderness  that  struck  most  of  the  beholders  with  a 
sensation  of  pleasure.  The  doctor  and  Mrs.  Ives  rose  from 
their  seats  involuntarily,  and  each  stood  for  a  moment  lost 
in  an  astonishment  that  was  mingled  with  grief.  Recol- 
lecting himself,  the  rector  grasped  the  extended  hand  of 
the  senior  in  both  his  own,  and  endeavored  to  utter  some- 
thing, but  in  vain.  The  tears  followed  each  other  down 
his  cheeks,  as  he  looked  on  the  faded  and  careworn  figure 
which  stood  before  him  ;  while  his  wife,  unable  to  control 
her  feelings,  sank  back  into  a  chair,  and  wept  aloud. 

Throwing  open  the  door  of  an  adjoining  room,  and  re- 
taining the  hand  of  the  invalid,  the  doctor  gently  led  the 
way,  followed  by  his  wife  and  son.  The  former,  having 
recovered  from  the  first  burst  of  her  sorrow,  and  regard- 
less of  everything  else,  now  anxiously  watched  the  en- 
feebled step  of  the  stranger.  On  reaching  the  door,  they 
both  turned  and  bowed  to  the  company  in  a  manner  of  so 
much  dignity,  mingled  with  sweetness,  that  all,  not  except- 
ing Mr.  Benfield,  rose  from  their  seats  to  return  the  salu- 
tation. On  passing  from  the  dining-parlor,  the  door  was 
closed,  leaving  the  company  standing  round  the  table  in 
mute  astonishment  and  commiseration.  Not  a  word  had 
been  spoken,  and  the  rector's  family  had  left  them  with- 
out apology  or  explanation.  Francis,  however,  soon  re- 
turned, and  was  followed  in  a  few  minutes  by  his  mother, 
who,  slightly  apologizing  for  her  absence,  turned  the  dis- 


16  PRECA  UTION. 

course  on  the  approaching  Sunday,  and  the  intention  of 
Francis  to  preach  on  that  day.  The  Moseleys  were  too 
well-bred  to  make  any  inquiries,  and  the  Deanery  family 
was  afraid.  Sir  Edward  retired  at  a  very  early  hour,  and 
was  followed  by  the  remainder  of  the  party. 

"  Well,"  cried  Mrs.  Jarvis,  as  they  drove  from  the  door, 
"this  may  be  good  breeding;  but,  for  my  part,  I  think 
both  the  doctor  and  Mrs.  Ives  behaved  very  rudely,  with 
the  crying  and  sobbing." 

"  They  are  nobody  of  much  consequence,"  cried  her 
eldest  daughter,  casting  a  contemptuous  glance  on  a  plain 
travelling-chaise  which  stood  before  the  rector's  stables. 

"  'Twas  sickening,"  said  Miss  Sarah,  with  a  shrug ; 
while  her  father,  turning  his  eyes  on  each  speaker  in  suc- 
cession, very  deliberately  helped  himself  to  a  pinch  of 
snuff,  his  ordinary  recourse  against  a  family  quarrel.  The 
curiosity  of  the  ladies  was,  however,  more  lively  than  they 
chose  to  avow  ;  and  Mrs.  Jarvis  bade  her  maid  go  over  to 
the  rectory  that  evening,  with  her  compliments  to  Mrs. 
Ives  :  she  had  lost  a  lace  veil,  which  her  maid  knew,  and 
she  thought  it  might  have  been  left  at  the  rectory. 

"  And,  Jones,  when  you  are  there,  you  can  inquire  of  the 
servants — mind,  of  the  servants — I  would  not  distress  Mrs. 
Ives  for  the  world — how  Mr. — Mr. — what's  his  name  ? — 
uh  !  I  have  forgotten  his  name  ;  just  bring  me  his  name 
too,  Jones  ;  and,  as  it  may  make  some  difference  in  our 
party,  just  find  out  how  long  they  stay  ;  and — and — any 
other  little  thing,  Jones,  which  can  be  of  use,  you 
know." 

Off  went  Jones,  and  within  an  hour  she  had  returned. 
With  an  important  look,  she  commenced  her  narrative,  the 
daughters  being  accidentally  present,  and  it  might  be  on 
purpose. 

"  Why,  ma'am,  I  went  across  the  fields,  and  William  was 
good  enough  to  go  with  me  ;  so  when  we  got  there,  I  rang, 
and  they  showed  us  into  the  servants'  room,  and  I  gave  my 
message,  and  the  veil  was  not  there.  Why,  ma'am,  there's 
the  veil  now,  on  the  back  o'  that  chair." 

"  Very  well,  very  well,  Jones,  never  mind  the  veil,"  cried 
the  impatient  mistress. 

"So,  ma'am,  while  they  were  looking  for  the  veil,  I  just 
asked  one  of  the  maids  what  company  had  arrived,  but  "- 
here  Jones  looked  very  suspicious,   and  shook  her  head 
ominously — "  would  you  think  it,  ma'am,   not  a  soul  of 
them  knew  !     But,  ma'am,  there  was  the  doctor  and  his 


PRRCA  UTION.  27 

son,  praying  and  reading  with  the  old  gentleman  the  whole 
time — and " 

"And  what,  Jones?" 

"  Why,  ma'am,  I  expect  he  has  been  a  great  sinner,  or 
he  wouldn't  want  so  much  praying  just  as  he  is  about  to 
die." 

"  Die  ! "  cried  all  three  at  once  ;  "  will  he  die  ? " 

"O  yes,"  continued  Jones,  "they  all  agree  he  must  die  ; 
but  this  praying  so  much  is  just  like  the  criminals.  I'm 
sure  no  honest  person  needs  so  much  praying,  ma'am." 

"No,  indeed,"  said  the  mother.  "No,  indeed,"  responded 
the  daughters,  as  they  retired  to  their  several  rooms  for 
the  night. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THERE  is  something  in  the  season  of  spring  which  pe- 
culiarly excites  the  feelings  of  devotion.  The  dreariness 
of  winter  has  passed,  and  with  it,  the  deadened  affections 
of  our  nature.  New  life,  new  vigor,  arises  within  us,  as 
we  walk  abroad  and  feel  the  genial  gales  of  April  breathe 
upon  us ;  and  our  hopes,  our  wishes,  awaken  with  the  re- 
vival of  the  vegetable  world.  It  is  then  that  the  heart, 
which  has  been  impressed  with  the  goodness  of  the  Crea- 
tor, feels  that  goodness  brought,  as  it  were,  into  very  con- 
tact with  the  senses.  The  eye  loves  to  wander  over  the 
bountiful  provisions  nature  is  throwing  forth  in  every  di- 
rection for  our  comfort,  and  fixes  its  gaze  on  the  clouds, 
which,  having  lost  the  chilling  thinness  of  winter,  roll  in 
rich  volumes,  amid  the  clear  and  softened  fields  of  azure  so 
peculiar  to  the  season,  leading  the  mind  insensibly  to  dwell 
on  the  things  of  another  and  a  better  world.  It  was  on  such 
a  day  that  the  inhabitants  of  B —  —  thronged  toward  the 
village  church,  for  the  double  purpose  of  pouring  out  their 
thanksgivings  and  of  hearing  the  first  efforts  of  their  rec- 
tor's son  in  the  duties  of  his  sacred  calling. 

Among  the  crowd  whom  curiosity,  or  a  better  feeling, 
had  drawn  forth  were  to  be  seen  the  flaring  equipage  of 
the  Jarvises,  and  the  handsome  carriages  of  Sir  Edward 
Moseley  and  his  sister.  All  the  members  of  the  latter 
family  felt  a  lively  anxiety  for  the  success  of  the  young 
divine.  But  knowing,  as  they  well  did,  the  strength  of 
his  native  talents,  the  excellence  of  his  education,  and  the 
fervor  of  his  piety,  it  was  an  anxiety  that  partook  more 


28  PRECA  UTIOtf. 

of  hope  than  of  fear.  There  was  one  heart,  however, 
among  them  that  palpitated  with  an  emotion  that  hardly 
admitted  of  control,  as  they  approached  the  sacred  edifice, 
for  it  had  identified  itself  completely  with  the  welfare  of 
the  rector's  son.  There  never  was  a  softer,  truer  heart  than 
that  which  now  almost  audibly  beat  within  the  bosom  of 
Clara  Moseley ;  and  she  had  given  it  to  the  young  divine 
with  all  its  purity  and  truth. 

The  entrance  of  a  congregation  into  the  sanctuary  will 
at  all  times  furnish,  to  an  attentive  observer,  food  for  much 
useful  speculation,  if  it  be  chastened  with  a  proper  charity 
for  the  weaknesses  of  others  ;  and  most  people  are  ignorant 
of  the  insight  they  are  giving  into  their  characters  and 
dispositions,  by  such  an  apparently  trivial  circumstance 
as  their  weekly  approach  to  the  tablernacles  of  the  Lord. 
Christianity,  while  it  chastens  and  amends  the  heart,  leaves 
the  natural  powers  unaltered  ;  and  it  cannot  be  doubted  that 
its  operation  is,  or  ought  to  be,  proportionate  to  the  abili- 
ties and  opportunities  of  the  subject  of  its  holy  impres- 
sion— "  Unto  whomsoever  much  is  given,  much  will  be 
required."  While  we  acknowledge  that  the  thoughts 
might  be  better  employed  in  preparing  for  those  humilia- 
tions of  the  spirit  and  thanksgivings  of  the  heart  which 
are  required  of  all,  and  are  so  necessary  to  all,  we  must  be 
indulged  in  a  hasty  view  of  some  of  the  personages  of  our 
history,  as  they  entered  the  church  of  B . 

On  the  countenance  of  the  baronet  was  the  dignity  and 
composure  of  a  mind  at  peace  with  itself  and  mankind. 
His  step  was  rather  more  deliberate  than  common  ;  his 
eye  rested  on  the  pavement,  and  on  turning  into  his  pew, 
as  he  prepared  to  kneel,  in  the  first  humble  petition  of 
our  beautiful  service,  he  raised  it  toward  the  altar  with  an 
expression  of  benevolence  and  reverence  that  spoke  con- 
tentment not  unmixed  with  faith. 

In  the  demeanor  of  Lady  Moseley,  all  was  graceful  and 
decent,  while  nothing  could  be  properly  said  to  be  studied. 
She  followed  her  husband  with  a  step  of  equal  delibera- 
tion, though  it  was  slightly  varied  by  a  manner  which, 
while  it  appeared  natural  to  herself,  might  have  been  arti* 
ficial  in  another  ;  a  cambric  handkerchief  concealed  her 
face  as  she  sank  composedly  by  the  side  of  Sir  Edward,  in 
a  style  which  showed,  that  while  she  remembered  her 
Maker,  she  had  not  entirely  forgotten  herself. 

The  walk  of  Mrs.  Wilson  was  quicker  than  that  of  her 
sister  Her  eye,  directed  before  her,  was  fixed,  as  if  ia  set- 


PR  EC  A  UTION'.  39 

tied  gaze,  on  that  eternity  which  she  was  approaching. 
The  lines  of  her  contemplative  face  were  unaltered,  unless 
there  might  be  traced  a  deeper  shade  of  humility  than  was 
ordinarily  seen  on  her  pale,  but  expressive  countenance : 
her  petition  was  long ;  and  on  rising  from  her  humble 
posture,  the  person  was  indeed  to  be  seen,  but  the  soul 
appeared  absorbed  in  contemplations  beyond  the  limits  of 
this  sphere. 

There  was  a  restlessness  and  varying  of  color,  in  the  or- 
dinarily placid  Clara,  which  prevented  a  display  of  her 
usual  manner  ;  while  Jane  walked  gracefully,  and  with  a 
tincture  of  her  mother's  manner,  by  her  side.  She  stole 
one  hastily  withdrawn  glance  to  the  Deanery  pew  ere  she 
kneeled,  and  then,  on  rising,  handed  her  smelling-bottle 
affectionately  to  her  elder  sister. 

Emily  glided  behind  her  companions  with  a  face  beam- 
ing with  a  look  of  innocence  and  love.  As  she  sank  in  the 
act  of  supplication,  the  rich  glow  of  her  healthful  cheek 
lost  some  of  its  brilliancy  ;  but,  on  rising,  it  beamed  with  a 
renewed  lustre,  that  plainly  indicated  a  heart  touched  with 
the  sanctity  of  its  situation. 

In  the  composed  and  sedate  manner  of  Mr.  Jarvis,  as 
he  steadily  pursued  his  way  to  the  pew  of  Sir  William 
Harris,  you  might  have  been  justified  in  expecting  the  en- 
trance of  another  Sir  Edward  Moseley  in  substance,  if  not 
in  externals.  But  the  deliberate  separation  of  the  flaps 
of  his  coat,  as  he  comfortably  seated  himself,  when  you 
thought  him  about  to  kneel,  followed  by  a  pinch  of  snuff 
as  he  threw  his  eye  around  the  building,  led  you  at  once 
to  conjecture,  that  what  at  first  had  been  mistaken  for  rev- 
erence, was  the  abstraction  of  some  earthly  calculation  ; 
and  that  his  attendance  was  in  compliance  with  custom, 
and  not  a  little  depended  upon  the  thickness  of  his  cush- 
ions, and  the  room  he  found  for  the  disposition  of  two 
rather  unwieldy  legs. 

The  ladies  of  the  family  followed,  in  garments  carefully 
selected  for  the  advantageous  display  of  their  persons.  As 
they  sailed  into  their  seats,  where  it  would  seem  the  im- 
providence of  Sir  William's  steward  had  neglected  some 
important  accommodation  (some  time  being  spent  in  prep- 
aration to  be  seated),  the  old  lady,  whose  size  and  flesh 
really  put  kneeling  out  of  the  question,  bent  forward  for  a 
moment  at  an  angle  of  eighty  with  the  horizon,  while  her 
daughters  prettily  bowed  their  heads,  with  all  proper  pre- 
caution for  the  safety  of  their  superb  millinery. 


30  PRRCA  UTION. 

At  length  the  rector,  accompanied  by  his  son,  appeared 
from  the  vestry.  There  was  a  dignity  and  solemnity  in  the 
manner  in  which  this  pious  divine  entered  on  the  duties 
of  his  profession,  which  disposed  the  heart  to  listen  with 
reverence  and  humility  to  precepts  that  were 'accompanied 
with  so  impressive  an  exterior.  The  stillness  of  expectation 
pervaded  the  church,  when  the  pew  opener  led  the  way  to 
the  same  interesting  father  and  son  whose  entrance  had 
interrupted  the  guests  the  preceding  day  at  the  rectory. 
Every  eye  was  turned  on  the  emaciated  parent,  bending 
into  the  grave,  and,  as  it  were,  kept  from  it  by  the  support- 
ing tenderness  of  his  child.  Hastily  throwing  open  the 
door  of  her  own  pew,  Mrs.  Ives  buried  her  face  in  her 
handkerchief  ;  and  her  husband  had  proceeded  far  in  the 
morning  service  before  she  raised  it  again  to  the  view  of 
the  congregation.  In  the  voice  of  the  rector,  there  was  an 
unusual  softness  and  tremor  that  his  people  attributed  to 
the  feelings  of  a  father  about  to  witness  the  first  efforts  of 
an  only  child,  but  which  in  reality  were  owing  to  another 
and  a  deeper  cause. 

Prayers  were  ended,  and  the  younger  Ives  ascended  the 
pulpit.  For  a  moment  he  paused  ;  when,  casting  an  anx- 
ious glance  at  the  pew  of  the  baronet,  he  commenced  his 
sermon.  He  had  chosen  for  his  discourse  the  necessity  of 
placing  our  dependence  on  divine  grace.  After  having 
learnedly,  but  in  the  most  unaffected  manner,  displayed 
the  necessity  of  this  dependence,  as  derived  from  revelation, 
he  proceeded  to  paint  the  hope,  the  resignation,  the  felicity 
of  a  Christian's  death-bed.  Warmed  by  the  subject,  his 
animation  soon  lent  a  heightened  interest  to  his  language  ; 
and  at  a  moment  when  all  around  him  were  entranced  by 
the  eloquence  of  the  youthful  divine,  a  sudden  and  deep- 
drawn  sigh  drew  every  eye  to  the  rector's  pew.  The 
younger  stranger  sat  motionless  as  a  statue,  holding  in  his 
arms  the  lifeless  body  of  his  parent,  who  had  fallen  that 
moment  a  corpse  by  his  side.  All  was  now  confusion  ; 
the  almost  insensible  young  man  was  relieved  from  his 
burden  ;  and,  led  by  the  rector,  they  left  the  church.  The 
congregation  dispersed  in  silence,  or  assembled  in  little 
groups  to  converse  on  the  awful  event  they  had  witnessed. 
None  knew  the  deceased  ;  he  was  the  rector's  friend,  and 
to  his  residence  the  body  was  removed.  The  young  man 
was  evidently  his  child  ;  but  here  all  information  ended. 
They  had  arrived  in  a  private  chaise,  but  with  post-horses, 
and  without  attendants.  Their  arrival  at  the  parsonage 


PRECA  UTIOM  31 

was  detailed  by  the  Jarvis  ladies  with,  a  few  exaggerations 
that  gave  additional  interest  to  the  whole  event,  and  which, 
by  creating  an  impression  with  some  whom  gentler  feel- 
ings would  not  have  restrained,  that  there  was  something 
of  mystery  about  them,  prevented  'many  distressing  ques- 
tions to  the  Ives's,  that  the  baronet's  family  forbore  put- 
ting, on  the  score  of  delicacy.  The  body  left  B at  the 

close  of  the  week,  accompanied  by  Francis  Ives  and  the 
unweariedly  attentive  and  interesting  son.  The  doctor 
and  his  wife  went  into  deep  mourning,  and  Clara  received 
a  short  note  from  her  lover,  on  the  morning  of  their  de- 
parture, acquainting  her  with  his  intended  absence  for  a 
month,  but  throwing  no  light  upon  the  affair.  The  Lon- 
don papers,  however,  contained  the  following  obituary 
notice,  and  which,  as  it  could  refer  to  no  other  person,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  was  supposed  to  allude  to  the  rector's 
friend. 

"  Died,  suddenly,  at  B ,  on  the  2oth  instant,  George 

Denbigh,  Esq.,  aged  63." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

DURING  the  week  of  mourning,  the  intercourse  between 
Moseley  Hall  and  the  rectory  was  confined  to  messages  and 
notes  of  inquiry  after  each  other's  welfare ;  but  the  visit 
of  the  Moseleys  to  the  Deanery  had  been  returned  ;  and 
the  day  after  the  appearance  of  the  obituary  paragraph, 
the  family  of  the  latter  dined  by  invitation  at  the  Hall. 
Colonel  Egerton  had  recovered  the  use  of  his  leg,  and 
was  included  in  the  party.  Between  this  gentleman  and 
Mr.  Benfield  there  appeared,  from  the  first  moment  of 
their  introduction,  a  repugnance  which  was  rather  in- 
creased by  time,  and  which  the  old  gentleman  manifested 
by  a  demeanor  loaded  with  the  overstrained  ceremony  of 
the  day,  and  which,  in  the  colonel,  only  showed  itself  by 
avoiding,  when  possible,  all  intercourse  with^he  object  of 
his  aversion.  Both  Sir  Edward  and  Lady  Moseley,  on  the 
contrary,  were  not  slow  in  manifesting  their  favorable  im- 
pressions in  behalf  of  the  gentleman.  The  latter,  in  par- 
ticular, having  ascertained  to  her  satisfaction  that  he  was 
the  undoubted  heir  to  the  title,  and  most  probably  to  the 
estates  of  his  uncle,  Sir  Edgar  Egerton,  felt  herself  strongly 
disposed  to  encourage  an  acquaintance  she  found  so  agree- 


32  PRECA  UT10N-. 

able,  and  to  which  she  could  see  no  reasonable  objection, 
Captain  Jarvis,  who  was  extremely  offensive  to  her,  from 
his  vulgar  familiarity,  she  barely  tolerated,  from  the  neces- 
sity of  being  civil,  and  keeping  up  sociability  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. It  is  true,  she  could  not  help  being  surprised 
that  a  gentleman,  as  polished  as  the  colonel,  could  find 
any  pleasure  in  an  associate  like  his  friend,  or  even  in  the 
hardly  more  softened  females  of  his  family  ;  then  again, 
the  flattering  suggestion  would  present  itself,  that  possi- 
bly he  might  have  seen  Emily  at  Bath,  or  Jane  elsewhere, 
and  availed  himself  of  the  acquaintance  of  young  Jarvis 
to  get  into  their  neighborhood.  Lady  Moseley  had  never 
been  vain,  or  much  interested  about  the  disposal  of  her 
own  person,  previously  to  her  attachment  to  her  husband  ; 
but  her  daughters  called  forth  not  a  little  of  her  natural 
pride — we  had  almost  said  of  her  selfishness. 

The  attentions  of  the  colonel  were  of  the  most  delicate 
and  insinuating  kind ;  and  Mrs.  Wilson  several  times 
turned  away  in  displeasure  at  herself,  for  listening  with 
too  much  satisfaction  to  nothings,  uttered  in  an  agreeable 
manner,  or,  what  was  worse,  false  sentiments  supported 
with  the  gloss  of  language  and  a  fascinating  deportment. 
The  anxiety  of  this  lady  on  behalf  of  Emily  kept  her  ever 
on  the  alert,  when  chance,  or  any  chain  of  circumstances, 
threw  her  in  the  way  of  forming  new  connections  of  any 
kind  ;  and  of  late,  as  her  charge  approached  the  period  of 
life  her  sex  were  apt  to  make  that  choice  from  which  there 
is  no  retreat,  her  solicitude  to  examine  the  characters  of 
the  men  who  approached  her  was  really  painful.  As  to 
Lady  Moseley,  her  wishes  disposed  her  to  be  easily  satis- 
fied, and  her  mind  naturally  shrank  from  an  investigation 
to  which  she  felt  herself  unequal ;  while  Mrs.  Wilson  was 
governed  by  the  convictions  of  a  sound  discretion,  ma- 
tured by  long  and  deep  reasoning,  all  acting  on  a  temper 
at  all  times  ardent,  and  a  watchfulness  calculated  to  en- 
dure to  the  end. 

"  Pray,  my  lady,"  said  Mrs.  Jarvis,  with  a  look  of  some- 
thing  like  importance,  "have  you  made  any  discovery 
about  this  Mr.  Denbigh,  who  died  in  the  church  lately?" 

"I  did  not  know,  ma'am,"  replied  Lady  Moseley,  "there 
was  any  discovery  to  be  made." 

"You  know,  Lady  Moseley,"  said  Colonel  Egerton, 
"  that  in  town,  all  the  little  'accompaniments  of  such  a 
melancholy  death  would  have  found  their  way  into  the 
prints ;  and  I  suppose  this  is  what  Mrs.  Jarvis  alludes  to.'' 


PRECA  UTION.  33 

''Oh,  yes,"  cried  Mrs.  Jarvis,  "the  colonel  is  right." 
But  the  colonel  was  always  right  with  that  lady. 

Lady  Moseley  bowed  her  head  with  dignity,  and  the 
colonel  had  too  much  tact  to  pursue  the  conversation ;  but 
the  captain,  whom  nothing  had  ever  yet  abashed,  ex- 
claimed— 

"  These  Denbighs  could  not  be  people  of  much  impor- 
tance— I  have  never  heard  the  name  before." 

"  It  is  the  family  name  of  the  Duke  of  Derwent,  I  be- 
lieve," dryly  remarked  Sir  Edward. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  neither  the  old  man  nor  his  son  looked 
much  like  a  duke,  or  so  much  as  an  officer  either,"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Jarvis,  who  thought  the  latter  rank  the  dig- 
nity in  degree  next  below  nobility. 

"  There  sat,  in  the  Parliament  of  this  realm,  when  I  was 
a  member,  a  General  Denbigh,"  said  Mr.  Benfield,  with 
his  usual  deliberation  ;  "  he  was  always  on  the  same  side 
with  Lord  Gosford  and  myself.  He  and  his  friend,  Sir 
Peter  Howell,  who  was  the  admiral  that  took  the  French 
squadron,  in  the  glorious  administration  of  Billy  Pitt,  and 
afterward  took  an  island  with  this  same  General  Den- 
bigh :  ay,  the  old  admiral  was  a  hearty  blade — a  good  deal 
such  a  looking  man  as  my  Hector  would  make."  Hector 
was  Mr.  Benfield's  bull-dog. 

"  Mercy  !  "  whispered  John  to  Clara,  "  that's  your  grand- 
father that  is  to  be,  Uncle  Benfield  is  speaking  of." 

Clara  smiled,  as  she  ventured  to  say,  "Sir  Peter  was 
Mrs.  Ives's  father,  sir." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  the  old  gentleman,  with  a  look  of  sur- 
prise;  "I  never  knew  that  before.  I  cannot  say  they  re- 
semble each  other  much." 

"  Pray,  uncle,  does  Frank  look  much  like  the  family  ? " 
asked  John  with  an  air  of  unconquerable  gravity. 

"  But,  sir,"  interrupted  Emily,  "  were  General  Denbigh 
and  Admiral  Howell  related  ?" 

"Not  that  I  ever  knew,  Emmy  dear.  Sir  Frederick 
Denbigh  did  not  look  much  like  the  admiral  ;  he  rather 
resembled  "  (gathering  himself  up  into  an  air  of  formality, 
and  bowing  stiffly  to  Colonel  Egerton)  "this  gentleman, 
here." 

"  I  have  not  the  honor  of  the  connection,"  observed  the 
colonel,  withdrawing  behind  the  chair  of  Jane. 

Mrs.  Wilson  changed  the  conversation  to  one  more  gen- 
eral ;  but  the  little  that  had  fallen  from  Mr.  Benfield  gave 
reason  for  believing  ?  connection,  in  some  way  of  which 


34  PRECA  UTION. 

they  were  ignorant,  existed  between  the  descendants  of 
the  two  veterans,  and  which  explained  the  interest  they 
felt  in  each  other. 

During  dinner,  Colonel  Egerton  placed  himself  next  to 
Emily,  and  Miss  Jarvis  took  the  chair  on  the  other  side. 
He  spoke  of  the  gay  world,  of  watering-places,  novels, 
plays  ;  and,  still  finding  his  companion  reserved,  and  either 
unwilling  or  unable  to  talk  freely,  he  tried  his  favorite 
sentiment.  He  had  read  poetry,  and  a  remark  of  his  lighted 
up  a  spark  of  intelligence  in  the  beautiful  face  of  his  com- 
panion that  for  a  moment  deceived  him  ;  but  as  he  went 
on  to  point  out  his  favorite  beauties,  it  gave  place  to  a 
settled  composure,  which  at  last  led  him  to  imagine  the 
casket  contained  no  gem  equal  to  the  promise  of  its  bril- 
liant exterior.  After  resting  from  one  of  his  most  labored 
displays  of  feeling  and  imagery,  he  accidentally  caught  the 
eyes  of  Jane  fastened  on  him  with  an  expression  of  no 
dubious  import,  and  the  soldier  changed  his  battery.  In 
Jane  he  found  a  more  willing  auditor  :  poetry  was  the  food 
she  lived  on,  and  in  works  of  the  imagination  she  found 
her  greatest  delight.  An  animated  discussion  of  the  merits 
of  their  favorite  authors  now  took  place — to  renew  which, 
the  colonel  early  left  the  dining-room,  for  the  society  of 
the  ladies  ;  John,  who  disliked  drinking  excessively,  being 
happy  of  an  excuse  to  attend  him. 

The  younger  ladies  had  clustered  together  round  a  win- 
dow ;  and  even  Emily  in  her  heart  rejoiced  that  the  gen- 
tlemen had  come  to  relieve  herself  and  sisters  from  the 
arduous  task  of  entertaining  women  who  appeared  not 
to  possess  a  single  taste  or  opinion  in  common  with  them- 
selves. ^ 

"  You  were  saying,  Miss  Moseley,"  observed  the  colonel, 
in  his  most  agreeable  manner,  as  he  approached  them, 
"  you  thought  Campbell  the  most  musical  poet  we  have. 
I  hope  you  will  unite  with  me  in  excepting  Moore." 

Jane  colored,  as  with  some  awkwardness  she  replied, 
"Moore  was  certainly  poetical." 

"  Has  Moore  written  much  ? "  innocently  asked  Emily. 

"Not  half  as  much  as  he  ought,"  cried  Miss  Jarvis 
"Oh  !  I  could  live  on  his  beautiful  lines." 

Jane  turned  away  in  disgust ;  and  that  evening,  while 
alone  with  Clara,  she  took  a  volume  of  Moore's  songs,  and 
very  coolly  consigned  them  to  the  flames.  Her  sister  nat- 
urally asked  an  explanation  of  so  extraordinary  a  pro- 
cedure. 


PRECAUTION. 


35 


"Oh!"  cried  Jane,  "I  can't  abide  the  book,  since  that 
vulgar  Miss  Jarvis  speaks  of  it  with  so  much  interest.  I 
really  believe  Aunt  Wilson  is  right  in  not  suffering  Emily 
to  read  such  things."  And  Jane,  who  had  often  devoured 
the  treacherous  lines  with  ardor,  shrank  with  fastidious 
delicacy  from  the  indulgence  of  a  perverted  taste,  when  it 
became  exposed,  coupled  with  the  vulgarity  of  unblush- 
ing audacity. 

Colonel  Egerton  immediately  changed  the  subject  to 
one  less  objectionable,  and  spoke  of  a  campaign  he  had 
made  in  Spain.  He  possessed  the  happy  faculty  of  giving 
an  interest  to  all  he  advanced,  whether  true  or  not  ;  and, 
as  he  never  contradicted,  or  even  opposed  unless  to  yield 
gracefully,  when  a  lady  was  his  opponent,  his  conversation 
insensibly  attracted,  by  putting  the  sex  in  good  humor 
with  themselves.  Such  a  man,  aided  by  the  powerful 
assistants  of  person  and  manners,  and  no  inconsiderable 
colloquial  talents,  Mrs.  Wilson  knew  to  be  extremely  dan- 

ferous  as  a  companion  to  a  youthful  female  heart ;  and  as 
is  visit  was  to  extend  to  a  couple  of  months,  she  resolved 
to  reconnoitre  the  state  of  her  pupil's  opinion  forthwith 
in  reference  to  his  merits.  She  had  taken  too  much 
pains  in  forming  the  mind  of  Emily  to  apprehend  she 
would  fall  a  victim  to  the  eye  ;  but  she  also  knew  that  per- 
sonal grace  sweetened  a  benevolent  expression,  and  added 
force  even  to  the  oracles  of  wisdom.  She  labored  a  lit- 
tle herself  under  the  disadvantage  of  what  John  called  a 
didactic  manner,  and  which,  although  she  had  not  the  abil- 
ity, or  rather  taste,  to  amend,  she  had  yet  the  sense  to  dis- 
cern. It  was  the  great  error  of  Mrs.  Wilson  to  attempt 
to  convince,  where  she  might  have  influenced  ;  but  her 
ardor  of  temperament,  and  great  love  of  truth,  kept  her 
as  it  were  tilting  with  the  vices  of  mankind,  and  con- 
sequently sometimes  in  unprofitable  combat.  With  her 
charge,  however,  this  could  never  be  said  to  be  the  case. 
Emily  knew  her  heart,  felt  her  love,  and  revered  her  prin- 
ciples too  deeply,  to  throw  away  an  admonition,  or  disre- 
gard a  precept,  that  fell  from  lips  she  knew  never  spoke 
idly  or  without  consideration. 

John  had  felt  tempted  to  push  the  conversation  with 
Miss  Jarvis,  and  he  was  about  to  utter  something  rapt- 
urous respecting  the  melodious  poison  of  Little's  poems, 
as  the  blue  eye  of  Emily  rested  on  him  in  the  fulness  of 
sisterly  affection,  and,  checking  his  love  of  the  ridiculous, 
he  quietly  yielded  to  his  respect  for  the  innocence  of  his 


36  PRECA  UTION'. 

sisters  ;  and,  as  if  eager  to  draw  the  attention  of  all  from 
the  hateful  subject,  he  put  question  after  question  to 
Egerton  concerning  the  Spaniards  and  their  customs. 

"  Did  you  ever  meet  Lord  Pendennyss  in  Spain,  Colonel 
Egerton  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  interest. 

"  Never,  madam,"  he  replied.  "  I  have  much  reason  to 
regret  that  our  service  lay  in  different  parts  of  the  coun- 
try ;  his  lordship  was  much  with  the  duke,  and  I  made  the 
campaign  under  Marshal  Beresford." 

Emily  left  the  group  at  the  window,  and,  taking  a  seat 
on  the  sofa  by  the  side  of  her  aunt,  insensibly  led  her  to 
forget  the  gloomy  thoughts  which  had  begun  to  steal 
over  her ;  which  the  colonel,  approaching  where  they 
sat,  continued,  by  asking — 

"  Are  you  acquainted  with  the  earl,  madam  ? " 

"Not  in  person,  but  by  character,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  in 
a  melancholy  manner. 

"  His  character  as  a  soldier  was  very  high.  He  had 
no  superior  of  his  years  in  Spain,  I  am  told." 

No  reply  was  made  to  this  remark,  and  Emily  endeav- 
ored anxiously  to  draw  the  mind  of  her  aunt  to  reflections 
of  a  more  agreeable  nature.  The  colonel,  whose  vigi- 
lance to  please  was  ever  on  the  alert,  kindly  aided  her, 
and  they  soon  succeeded. 

The  merchant  withdrew,  with  his  family  and  guest,  in 
proper  season  ;  and  Mrs.  Wilson,  heedful  of  her  duty, 
took  the  opportunity  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  privacy  in 
her  own  dressing-room,  in  the  evening,  to  touch  gently 
on  the  subject  of  the  gentlemen  they  had  seen  that 
day. 

"  How  are  you  pleased,  Emily,  with  your  new  acquaint- 
ances ? "  familiarly  commenced  Mrs.  Wilson. 

"  Oh  !  aunt,  don't  ask  me.  As  John  says,  they  are  new, 
indeed." 

"  I  am  not  sorry,"  continued  the  aunt,  "to  have  you  ob- 
serve more  closely  than  you  have  been  used  to  the  man- 
ners of  such  women  as  the  Jarvises.  They  are  too  abrupt 
and  unpleasant  to  create  a  dread  of  any  imitation  ;  but 
the  gentlemen  are  heroes  in  very  different  styles." 

"  Different  from  each  other,  indeed." 

"  To  which  do  you  give  the  preference,  my  dear  ? " 

"  Preference,  aunt !  "  said  her  niece,  with  a  look  of  as- 
tonishment ;  "  preference  is  a  strong  word  for  either  ;  but 
I  rather  think  the  captain  the  most  eligible  companion  of 
the  two.  I  do  believe  you  see  the  worst  of  him  ;  and  al- 


PRECA  UTION;  37 

though   I   acknowledge   it  to  be  bad   enough,    he   might 
amend  ;  but  the  colonel  " 

"  Go  on,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson. 

"  Why,  everything  about  the  colonel  seems  so  seated,  so 
ingrafted  in  his  nature,  so — so  very  self-satisfied,  that  I  am 
afraid  it  would  be  a  difficult  task  to  take  the  first  step  in 
amendment — to  convince  him  of  its  necessity." 

"  And  is  it  then  so  necessary  ?" 

Emily  looked  up  from  arranging  some  laces  with  an  ex- 
pression of  surprise,  as  she  replied  : 

"  Did  you  not  hear  him  talk  of  those  poems,  and  attempt 
to  point  out  the  beauties  of  several  works  ?  I  thought 
everything  he  uttered  was  referred  to  taste,  and  that  not  a 
very  natural  one  ;  at  least,"  she  added  with  a  laugh,  "  it 
differed  greatly  from  mine.  He  seemed  to  forget  alto- 
gether there  was  such  a  thing  as  principle :  and  then  he 
spoke  of  some  woman  to  Jane,  who  had  left  her  father  for 
her  lover,  with  so  much  admiration  of  her  feelings,  to  take 
up  with  poverty  and  love,  as  he  called  it,  in  place  of  con- 
demning her  want  of  filial  piety — I  am  sure,  aunt,  if  you 
had  heard  that,  you  would  not  admire  him  so  much." 

"  I  do  not  admire  him  at  all,  child  ;  I  only  want  to  know 
your  sentiments,  and  I  am  happy  to  find  them  so  correct. 
It  is  as  you  think  :  Colonel  Egerton  appears  to  refer 
nothing  to  principle  ;  even  the  more  generous  feelings,  I 
am  afraid,  are  corrupted  in  him  from  too  low  intercourse 
with  the  surface  of  society.  There  is  by  far  too  much 
pliability  about  him  for  principle  of  any  kind,  unless  in 
deed  it  be  a  principle  to  please,  no  matter  how.  No  one 
who  has  deeply-seated  opinions  of  right  and  wrong  will 
ever  abandon  them,  even  in  the  courtesies  of  polite  inter- 
course ;  they  may  be  silent,  but  never  acquiescent.  In 
short,  my  dear,  the  dread  of  offending  our  Maker  ought  to 
be  so  superior  to  that  of  offending  our  fellow-creatures, 
that  we  should  endeavor,  I  believe,  to  be  even  more  un- 
bending to  the  follies  of  the  world  than  we  are." 

"And  yet  the  colonel  is  what  they  call  a  good  com- 
panion— I  mean  a  pleasant  one." 

"  In  the  ordinary  meaning  of  the  words,  he  is  certainly, 
my  dear  ;  yet  you  soon  tire  of  sentiments  which  will  not 
stand  the  test  of  examination,  and  of  a  manner  you  cannot 
but  see  is  artificial — he  may  do  very  well  for  a  companion, 
but  very  ill  for  a  friend.  In  short,  Colonel  Egerton  has 
neither  been  satisfied  to  yield  to  his  natural  impressions, 
nor  to  obtain  new  ones  from  a  proper  source  ;  he  has  cop- 


38  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

led  from  bad  models,  and  his  work  must  necessarily  be 
imperfect." 

Kissing  her  niece,  Mrs.  Wilson  then  retired  into  her  own 
room  with  the  happy  assurance  that  she  had  not  labored  in 
vain  ;  but  that,  with  divine  aid,  she  had  implanted  a  guide 
in  the  bosom  of  her  charge  that  could  not  fail,  with  ordi- 
nary care,  to  lead  her  straight  through  the  devious  path  of 
female  duties. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

A  MONTH  now  passed  in  the  ordinary  occupations  and 
amusements  of  a  country  life,  during  which  both  Lady 
Moseley  and  Jane  manifested  a  desire  to  keep  up  the 
Deanery  acquaintance  that  surprised  Emily  a  little,  who 
had  ever  seen  her  mother  shrink  from  communications 
with  those  whose  breeding  subjected  her  o\vn  delicacy  to 
the  little  shocks  she  could  but  ill  conceal.  In  Jane  this 
desire  was  still  more  inexplicable  ;  for  Jane  had,  in  a  de- 
cided way  very  common  to  her,  avowed  her  disgust  of  the 
manners  of  their  new  associates  at  the  commencement  of 
the  acquaintance  ;  and  yet  Jane  would  now  even  quit  her 
own  society  for  that  of  Miss  Jarvis,  especially  if  Colonel 
Egerton  happened  to  be  of  the  party.  The  innocence  of 
Emily  prevented  her  scanning  the  motives  for  the  conduct 
of  her  sister,  and  she  set  seriously  about  an  examination 
into  her  own  deportment  to  find  the  latent  cause,  in 
order,  wherever  an  opportunity  should  offer,  to  evince  her 
regret,  had  it  been  her  misfortune  to  have  erred  by  the 
tenderness  of  her  own  manner. 

For  a  short  time  the  colonel  seemed  at  a  loss  where  to 
make  his  choice  ;  but  a  few  days  determined  him,  and  Jane 
was  evidently  the  favorite.  It  is  true,  that  in  the  presence 
of  the  Jarvis  ladies  he  was  more  guarded  and  general  in 
his  attentions  ;  but  as  John,  from  a  motive  of  charity,  had 
taken  the  direction  of  the  captain's  sports  into  his  own 
hands,  and  as  they  were  in  the  frequent  habit  of  meeting 
at  the  Hall  preparatory  to  their  morning  excursions,  the 
colonel  suddenly  became  a  sportsman.  The  ladies  would 
often  accompany  them  in  their  morning  excursions  ;  and 
as  John  would  certainly  be  a  baronet,  and  the  colonel 
might  not  if  his  uncle  married,  he  had  the  comfort  of 
being  sometimes  ridden,  as  well  as  of  riding. 


PRECAUTION.  39 

One  morning,  having  all  prepared  for  an  excursion  on 
horseback,  as  they  stood  at  the  door  ready  to  mount, 
Francis  Ives  drove  up  in  his  father's  gig,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment arrested  the  party.  Francis  was  a  favorite  with  the 
whole  Moseley  family,  and  their  greetings  were  warm  and 
sincere.  He  found  they  meant  to  take  the  rectory  in  their 
ride,  and  insisted  that  they  should  proceed.  "  Clara  would 
take  a  seat  with  him."  As  he  spoke,  the  cast  of  his 
countenance  brought  the  color  into  the  cheeks  of  his  in- 
tended ;  she  suffered  herself,  however,  to  be  handed  into 
the  vacant  seat  in  the  gig,  and  they  moved  on.  John,  who 
was  at  the  bottom  good-natured,  and  loved  both  Francis 
and  Clara  very  sincerely,  soon  set  Captain  Jarvis  and  his 
sister  what  he  called  "  scrub  racing,"  and  necessity,  in 
some  measure,  compelled  the  rest  of  the  equestrians  to 
hard  riding,  in  order  to  keep  up  with  the  sports. 

"  That  will  do,  that  will  do,"  cried  John,  casting  his  eye 
back  and  perceiving  they  had  lost  sight  of  the  gig,  and 
nearly  so  of  Colonel  Egerton  and  Jane  ;  "  why,  you  carry 
it  off  like  a  jockey,  captain — better  than  any  amateur  I 
have  ever  seen,  unless  indeed  it  be  your  sister." 

The  lady,  encouraged  by  his  commendations,  whipped 
on,  followed  by  her  brother  and  sister  at  half  speed. 

"  There,  Emily,"  said  John,  quietly  dropping  by  her  side, 
"  I  see  no  reason  you  and  I  should  break  our  necks  to  show 
the  blood  of  our  horses.  Now  do  you  know  I  think  we  are 
going  to  have  a  wedding  in  the  family  soon  ?" 

Emily  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  Frank  has  got  a  living  ;  I  saw  it  the  moment  he  drove 
up.  He  came  in  like  somebody.  Yes,  I  dare  say  he  has 
calculated  the  tithes  already  a  dozen  times." 

John  was  right.  The  Earl  of  Bolton  had,  unsolicited, 
given  him  the  desired  living  of  his  own  parish  ;  and  Fran- 
cis was  at  the  moment  pressing  the  blushing  Clara  to  fix 
the  day  that  was  to  put  a  period  to  his  long  probation. 
Clara,  who  had  not  a  particle  of  coquetry  about  her,  prom- 
ised to  be  his  as  soon  as  he  was  inducted,  an  event  that 
was  to  take  place  the  following  week  ;  and  then  followed 
those  delightful  little  arrangements  and  plans  with  which 
youthful  hope  is  so  fond  of  filling  up  the  void  of  life. 

"  Doctor,"  said  John,  as  he  came  out  of  the  rectory  to 
assist  Clara  from  the  gig,  "  the  parson  here  is  a  careful 
driver  ;  see,  he  has  not  turned  a  hair." 

He  kissed  the  burning  cheek  of  his  sister  as  she  touched 
the  ground,  and  whispered  significantly — 


40  PR  EC  A  UT1ON. 

"  You  need  tell  me  nothing,  my  dear — I  know  all — I  con- 
sent" 

Mrs.  Ives  folded  her  future  daughter  to  her  bosom  ;  and 
the  benevolent  smile  of  the  good  rector,  together  with  the 
kind  and  affectionate  manner  of  her  sisters,  assured  Clara 
the  approaching  nuptials  were  anticipated,  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Colonel  Egerton  offered  his  compliments  to 
Francis  on  his  preferment  to  the  living,  with  the  polish  of 
high  breeding,  and  not  without  an  appearance  of  interest ; 
and  Emily  thought  him,  for  the  first  time,  as  handsome  as 
he  was  generally  reputed  to  be.  The  ladies  undertook  to 
say  something  civil  in  their  turn  ;  and  John  put  the  cap- 
tain, by  a  hint,  on  the  same  track. 

"You  are  quite  lucky,  sir,"  said  the  captain,  "  in  getting 
so  good  a  living  with  so  little  trouble  ;  I  wish  you  joy  of 
it  with  all  my  heart ;  Mr.  Moseley  tells  me  it  is  a  capital 
thing  now  for  a  gentleman  of  your  profession.  For  my 
part,  I  prefer  a  scarlet  coat  to  a  black  one  ;  but  there  must 
be  parsons,  you  know,  or  how  should  we  get  married  or 
say  grace  ?" 

Francis  thanked  him  for  his  good  wishes,  and  Egerton 
paid  a  handsome  compliment  to  the  liberality  of  the  earl  : 
"  he  doubted  not  he  found  that  gratification  which  always 
attends  a  disinterested  act  ; "  and  Jane  applauded  the 
sentiment  with  a  smile. 

The  baronet,  when  he  was  made  acquainted  with  the 
situation  of  affairs,  promised  Francis  that  no  unnecessary 
delay  should  intervene,  and  the  marriage  was  happily  ar- 
ranged for  the  following  week.  Lady  Moseley,  when  she 
retired  to  the  drawing-room  after  dinner,  commenced  a 
recital  of  the  ceremony,  and  the  company  to  be  invited  on 
the  occasion.  Etiquette  and  the  decencies  of  life  were  not 
only  the  forte  but  the  fault  of  this  lady  ;  and  she  had  gone 
on  to  the  enumeration  of  about  the  fortieth  personage  in  the 
ceremonials,  before  Clara  found  courage  to  say  that  "  Mr. 
Ives  and  myself  both  wish  to  be  married  at  the  altar,  and 
to  proceed  to  Bolton  Rectory  immediately  after  the  cere- 
mony." To  this  her  mother  warmly  objected  ;  and  argu- 
ment and  respectful  remonstrance  had  followed  each  other 
for  some  time,  before  Clara  submitted  in  silence,  with  diffi- 
culty restraining  her  tears.  This  appeal  to  the  better 
feelings  of  the  mother  triumphed  ;  and  the  love  of  parade 
yielded  to  love  of  her  offspring.  Clara,  with  a  lightened 
heart,  kissed  and  thanked  her,  and  accompanied  by  Emily 
left  the  room.  Jane  had  risen  to  follow  them,  but,  catch- 


PRECA  UT1ON.  41 

a  glimpse  of  the  tilbury  of  Colonel  Egerton,  she  reseated 
herself. 

He  had  merely  driven  over  at  the  earnest  entreaties  of 
the  ladies  to  beg  Miss  Jane  would  accept  a  seat  back  with 
him  ;  "  they  had  some  little  project  on  foot,  and  could  not 
proceed  without  her  assistance." 

Mrs.  Wilson  looked  gravely  at  her  sister,  as  she  smiled 
acquiescence  to  his  wishes  ;  and  the  daughter,  who  but  the 
minute  before  had  forgotten  there  was  any  other  person 
in  the  world  but  Clara,  flew  for  her  hat  and  shawl,  in  order, 
as  she  said  to  herself,  that  the  politeness  of  Colonel  Eger- 
ton, might  not  keep  him  waiting.  Lady  Moseley  resumed 
her  seat  by  the  side  of  her  sister  with  an  .air  of  great  com- 
placency, as  she  returned  from  the  window,  after  having 
seen  her  daughter  off.  For  some  time  each  was  occupied 
quietly  with  her  needle,  when  Mrs.  Wilson  suddenly  broke 
the  silence  by  saying — 

"  Who  is  Colonel  Egerton  ?  " 

Lady  Moseley  looked  up  for  a  moment  in  amazement  ; 
but,  recollecting  herself,  answered — 

"  The  nephew  and  heir  of  Sir  Edgar  Egerton,  sister." 

This  was  spoken  in  a  rather  positive  way,  as  if  it  were 
unanswerable  ;  yet,  as  there  was  nothing  harsh  in  the  re- 
ply, Mrs.  Wilson  continued — 

"  Do  you  not  think  him  attentive  to  Jane  ? " 

Pleasure  sparkled  in  the  still  brilliant  eyes  of  Lady  Mose- 
ley, as  she  exclaimed — 

"Do  you  think  so  ?" 

"I  do  ;  and  you  will  pardon  me  if  I  say  improperly  so. 
I  think  you  were  wrong  in  suffering  Jane  to  go  with  him 
this  afternoon." 

"  Why  improperly,  Charlotte  ?  If  Colonel  Egerton  is 
polite  enough  to  show  Jane  such  attentions,  should  I  not 
be  wrong  in  rudely  rejecting  them  ?" 

"The  rudeness  of  refusing  a  request  that  is  improper  to 
grant  is  a  very  venial  offence.  I  confess  I  think  it  im- 
proper to  allow  any  attentions  to  be  forced  on  us  that  may 
subject  us  to  disagreeable  consequences.  But  the  atten- 
tions of  Colonel  Egerton  are  becoming  marked,  Anne." 

"  Do  you  for  a  moment  doubt  their  being  honorable, 
or  that  he  dares  to  trifle  with  a  daughter  of  Sir  Edward 
Moseley  ?" 

"  I  should  hope  not,  certainly,  although  it  may  be  we?' 
to  guard  even  against  such  a  misfortune.  But  I  am  of 
opinion  it  is  quite  as  important  to  know  whether  he  is 


42  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

worthy  to  be  her  husband  as  it  is  to  know  that  he  is  in  K 
situation  to  become  so." 

"On  what  points,  Charlotte,  would  you  wish  to  be  more 
assured  ?  You  know  his  birth,  and  probable  fortune  ;  you 
see  his  manners  and  disposition.  But  these  latter  are  things 
for  Jane  to  decide  on  ;  she  is  to  live  with  him,  and  it  is 
proper  she  should  be  suited  in  these  respects." 

"  I  do  not  deny  his  fortune  or  his  disposition,  but  I 
complain  that  we  give  him  credit  for  the  last,  and  for  still 
more  important  requisites,  without  evidence  of  his  possess- 
ing any  of  them.  His  principles,  his  habits,  his  very  char- 
acter, what  do  we  know  of  them  ?  I  say  we,  for  you 
know,  Anne,  your  children  are  as  dear  to  me,  as  my  own 
would  have  been." 

"  I  believe  you  sincerely,  but  the  things  you  mention  are 
points  for  Jane  to  decide  on.  If  she  be  pleased,  I  have  no 
right  to  complain.  I  am  determined  never  to  control  the 
affections  of  my  children." 

"  Had  you  said,  never  to  force  the  affections  of  your  chil- 
dren, you  would  have  said  enough,  Anne  ;  but  to  control, 
or  rather  to  guide  the  affections  of  a  child,  especially  a 
daughter,  is,  in  some  cases,  a  duty  as  imperative  as  it 
would  be  to  avert  any  other  impending  calamity.  Surely 
the  proper  time  to  do  this  is  before  the  affections  of  the 
child  are  likely  to  endanger  her  peace  of  mind." 

"  I  have  seldom  seen  much  good  result  from  the  inter- 
ference of  parents,"  said  Lady  Moseley,  a  little  pertina- 
ciously. 

"True  ;  for,  to  be  of  use,  unless  in  extraordinary  cases, 
it  should  not  be  seen.  You  will  pardon  me,  Anne,  but  I 
have  often  thought  parents  are  too  frequently  in  extremes 
— determined  to  make  the  election  for  their  children,  or 
leaving  them  entirely  to  their  own  vanity  and  inexperience, 
to  govern,  not  only  their  own  lives,  but,  I  may  say,  to  leave 
an  impression  on  future  generations.  And,  after  all,  what 
is  this  love  ?  In  nineteen  cases  in  twenty  of  what  we  call 
affairs  of  the  heart,  it  would  be  better  to  term  them  affairs 
of  the  imagination" 

"  And  is  there  not  a  great  deal  of  imagination  in  all  love  ?  " 
inquired  Lady  Moseley,  smiling. 

"  Undoubtedly,  there  is  some  ;  but  there  is  one  impor- 
tant difference  :  in  affairs  of  the  imagination,  the  admire^ 
object  is  gifted  with  all  those  qualities  we  esteem,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course  ;  and  there  is  a  certain  set  of  females  who 
are  ever  readv  to  bestow  this  admiration  on  any  applicant 


PRECA  UTIOtf.  43 

for  their  favors  who  may  not  be  strikingly  objectionable. 
The  necessity  of  being  courted  makes  our  sex  rather  too 
much  disposed  to  admire  improper  suitors." 

"  But  how  do  you  distinguish  affairs  of  the  heart,  Char- 
lotte, from  those  of  the  fancy  ? " 

"  When  the  heart  takes  the  lead,  it  is  not  difficult  to  de- 
tect it.  Such  sentiments  generally  follow  long  intercourse, 
and  opportunities  of  judging  the  real  character.  They  are 
the  only  attachments  that  are  likely  to  stand  the  test  of 
worldly  trials." 

"  Suppose  Emily  to  be  the  object  of  Colonel  Egerton's 
pursuit,  then,  sister,  in  what  manner  would  you  proceed 
to  destroy  the  influence  I  acknowledge  he  is  gaining  over 
Jane  ? " 

"  I  cannot  suppose  such  a  case,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson, 
gravely  ;  and  then,  observing  that  her  sister  looked  as  if 
she  required  an  explanation,  she  continued — 

"  My  attention  has  been  directed  to  the  forming  of  such 
principles,  and  such  a  taste,  if  I  may  use  the  expression, 
under  those  principles,  that  I  feel  no  apprehension  Emily 
will  ever  allow  her  affections  to  be  ensnared  by  a  man  of 
the  opinions  and  views  of  Colonel  Egerton.  I  am  im- 
pressed with  a  twofold  duty  in  watching  the  feelings  of 
my  charge.  She  has  so  much  singleness  of  heart,  such 
real  strength  of  native  feeling,  that,  should  an  improper 
man  gain  possession  of  her  affections,  the  struggle  between 
her  duty  and  her  love  would  be  weighty  indeed  ;  and 
should  it  proceed  so  far  as  to  make  it  her  duty  to  love  an 
unworthy  object,  I  am  sure  she  would  sink  under  it.  Emily 
would  die  in  the  same  circumstances  under  which  Jane 
would  only  awake  from  a  dream,  and  be  wretched." 

"  I  thought  you  entertained  a  better  opinion  of  Jane, 
sister,"  said  Lady  Moseley,  reproachfully. 

"  I  think  her  admirably  calculated  to  make  an  invaluable 
wife  and  mother  ;  but  she  is  so  much  under  the  influence 
of  her  fancy,  that  she  seldom  gives  her  heart  an  oppor- 
tunity of  displaying  its  excellences  ;  and  again,  she  dwells 
so  much  upon  imaginary  perfections,  that  adulation  has 
become  necessary  to  her.  The  man  who  flatters  her  deli- 
cately, will  be  sure  to  win  her  esteem  ;  and  every  woman 
might  love  the  being  possessed  of  the  qualities  she  will  not 
fail  to  endow  him  with." 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  rightly  understand  how  you  would 
avert  all  these  sad  consequences  of  improvident  affections," 
said  Lady  Moseley. 


44  PRECA  UT10N. 

"  Prevention  is  better  than  cure.  I  would  first  implant 
such  opinions  as  would  lessen  the  danger  of  intercourse; 
and  as  for  particular  attentions  from  improper  objects,  it 
should  be  my  care  to  prevent  them,  by  prohibiting,  or 
rather  impeding,  the  intimacy  which  might  give  rise  to 
them.  And  least  of  all,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  a  friendly 
smile,  as  she  rose  to  leave  the  room,  "would  I  suffer  a  fear 
of  being  impolite  to  endanger  the  happiness  of  a  young 
woman  intrusted  to  my  care." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

FRANCIS,  who  labored  with  the  ardor  of  a  lover,  soon 
completed  the  necessary  arrangements  and  alterations  in 
his  new  parsonage.  The  living  was  a  good  one  ;  and,  as 
the  rector  was  enabled  to  make  a  very  considerable  annual 
allowance  from  the  private  fortune  his  wife  had  brought 
him,  and  as  Sir  Edward  had  twenty  thousand  pounds  in  the 
funds  for  each  of  his  daughters,  one  portion  of  which  was 
immediately  settled  on  Clara,  the  youthful  couple  had  not 
only  a  sufficient  but  an  abundant  provision  for  their  station 
in  life  ;  and  they  entered  on  their  matrimonial  duties  with 
as  good  a  prospect  of  happiness  as  the  ills  of  this  world  can 
give  to  health,  affection,  and  competency.  Their  union 
had  been  deferred  by  Doctor  Ives  until  his  son  was  estab- 
lished, with  a  view  to  keep  him  under  his  own  direction 
during  the  critical  period  of  his  first  impressions  in  the 
priesthood  ;  and  as  no  objection  now  remained,  or  rather, 
the  only  one  he  ever  felt  was  removed  by  the  proximity  of 
Bolton  to  his  own  parish,  he  now  joyfully  united  the  lovers 
at  the  altar  of  the  village  church,  in  the  presence  of  his 
wife  and  Clara's  immediate  relatives.  On  leaving  the 
church,  Francis  handed  his  bride  into  his  own  carriage, 
which  conveyed  them  to  their  new  residence,  amid  the 
good  wishes  of  his  parishioners  and  the  prayers  of  their 
relatives  and  friends.  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Ives  retired  to  the 
rectory,  to  the  sober  enjoyment  of  the  felicity  of  their  only 
child  ;  while  the  baronet  and  his  lady  felt  a  gloom  that  be- 
lied all  the  wishes  of  the  latter  for  the  establishment  of  her 
daughters.  Jane  and  Emily  acted  as  bridesmaids  to  their 
sister  ;  and  as  both  the  former  and  her  mother  had  insisted 
there  should  be  two  groomsmen  as  a  counterpoise.  John 
was  empowered  with  a  carte-blanche  to  make  a  provision  ao 


PRECA  UTION.  45 

cordingly.  At  first,  he  intimated  his  intention  of  calling 
on  Mr.  Benfield  ;  but  he  finally  settled  down,  to  the  no 
small  mortification  of  the  before-mentioned  ladies,  into 
writing  a  note  to  his  kinsman,  Lord  Chatterton,  whose 
residence  was  then  in  London,  and  who  in  reply,  after  ex- 
pressing his  sincere  regret  that  an  accident  would  prevent 
his  having  the  pleasure  of  attending,  stated  the  intention 
of  his  mother  and  two  sisters  to  pay  them  an  early  visit  of 
congratulation,  as  soon  as  his  own  health  would  allow  of 
his  travelling.  This  answer  arrived  only  the  day  preced- 
ing that  fixed  for  the  wedding,  and  at  the  very  moment 
they  were  expecting  his  lordship  in  proper  person. 

''There,"  cried  Jane,  in  triumph,  "I  told  you  it  was 
silly  to  send  so  far  on  so  sudden  an  occasion  ;  now,  after 
all,  what  is  to  be  done  ? — it  will  be  so  awkward  when 
Clara's  friends  call  to  see  her — oh  !  John,  John,  you  are  a 
Marplot." 

"  Jenny,  Jenny,  you  are  a  make-plot,"  said  John,  coolly 
taking  up  his  hat  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Which  way,  my  son  ? "  said  the  baronet,  who  met  him 
at  the  door. 

"  To  the  Deanery,  sir,  to  try  to  get  Captain  Jarvis  to  act 
as  bridesmaid — I  beg  his  pardon,  groomsman,  to-morrow — 
Chatterton  has  been  thrown  from  his  horse  and  can't 
come." 

" John  ! " 

"Jenny!" 

"I  am  sure,"  said  Jane,  indignation  glowing  in  her 
pretty  face,  "  that  if  Captain  Jarvis  is  to  be  an  attendant, 
Clara  must  excuse  my  acting.  I  do  not  choose  to  be  asso- 
ciated with  Captain  Jarvis." 

"John,"  said  his  mother,  with  dignity,  "your  trifling  is 
unseasonable  ;  certainly  Colonel  Egerton  is  a  more  fitting 
person  on  every  account,  and  I  desire,  under  present  cir- 
cumstances, that  you  ask  the  colonel." 

"Your  ladyship's  wishes  are  orders  to  me,"  said  John, 
gayly  kissing  his  hand  as  he  left  the  room. 

The  colonel  was  but  too  happy  in  having  it  in  his  power 
to  be  of  service  in  any  manner  to  a  gentleman  he  respected 
as  much  as  Mr.  Francis  Ives.  He  accepted  the  duty,  and 
was  the  only  person  present  at  the  ceremony  who  did  not 
stand  within  the  bonds  of  consanguinity  to  the  parties. 
He  was  invited  by  the  baronet  to  dine  at  the  Hall,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  notwithstanding  the  repeated  in- 
junctions of  Mrs.  Jarvis  and  her  daughters,  to  return  im 


46  PRECA  UTION. 

mediately  with  an  account  of  the  dress  of  the  bride,  and 
with  other  important  items  of  a  similar  nature,  the  invita- 
tion was  accepted.  On  reaching  the  Hall,  Emily  retired 
immediately  to  her  own  room,  and  at  her  appearance  when 
the  dinner-bell  rang,  the  paleness  of  her  cheeks  and  the 
redness  of  her  eyes  afforded  sufficient  proof  that  the  trans- 
lation of  a  companion  from  her  own  to  another  family  was 
an  event,  however  happy  in  itself,  not  unmingled  with 
grief.  The  day,  however,  passed  off  tolerably  well  foi 
people  who  are  expected  to  be  premeditatedly  happy,  and 
when,  in  their  hearts,  they  are  really  more  disposed  to  weep 
than  to  laugh.  Jane  and  the  colonel  had  more  of  the  con- 
versation to  themselves  during  dinner  :  even  the  joyous 
and  thoughtless  John  wearing  his  gayety  in  a  less  graceful 
manner  than  usual.  He  was  actually  detected  by  his 
aunt  in  looking  with  moistened  eyes  at  the  vacant  chair  a 
servant  had,  from  habit,  placed  at  the  table,  in  a  spot 
where  Clara  had  been  accustomed  to  sit. 

"This  beef  is  not  done,  Saunders,"  said  the  baronet  to 
his  butler,  "  or  my  appetite  is  not  as  good  as  usual  to-day. 
Colonel  Egerton,  will  you  allow  me  the  pleasure  of  a  glass 
of  sherry  ? " 

The  wine  was  drunk,  and  the  game  succeeded  the  beef  ; 
but  still  Sir  Edward  could  not  eat. 

"  How  glad  Clara  will  be  to  see  us  all  the  day  after  to- 
morrow !  "  said  Mrs.  Wilson  ;  "your  new  housekeepers  de- 
light in  their  first  efforts  in  entertaining  their  friends." 

Lady  Moseley  smiled  through  her  tears,  and,  turning  to 
her  husband,  said,  "  We  will  go  early,  my  dear,  that  we 
may  see  the  improvements  Francis  has  been  making,  be- 
fore we  dine."  The  baronet  nodded  assent,  but  his  heart 
was  too  full  to  speak  ;  and  apologizing  to  the  colonel  for 
his  absence,  on  the  plea  of  some  business  with  his  people, 
he  left  the  room. 

All  this  time,  the  attentions  of  Colonel  Egerton  to  both 
mother  and  daughter  were  of  the  most  delicate  kind.  He 
spoke  of  Clara  as  if  his  office  of  groomsman  entitled  him 
to  an  interest  in  her  welfare  ;  with  John  he  was  kind  and 
sociable  ;  and  even  Mrs.  Wilson  acknowledged,  after  he 
had  taken  his  leave,  that  he  possessed  a  wonderful  fac- 
ulty of  making  himself  agreeable  ;  and  she  began  to  think 
that,  under  all  circumstances,  he  might  possibly  prove 
as  advantageous  a  connection  as  Jane  could  expect  to 
form.  Had  any  one,  however,  proposed  him  as  a  husband 
for  Emily,  affection  would  have  quickened  her  judgment 


PRECA  UTION".  47 

in  a  way  that  would  have  urged  her  to  a  very  different 
decision. 

Soon  after  the  baronet  left  the  room,  a  travelling-car- 
riage, with  suitable  attendants,  drove  to  the  door.  The 
sound  of  the  wheels  drew  most  of  the  company  to  a  window. 
"A  baron's  coronet!"  cried  Jane,  catching  a  glimpse  of 
the  ornaments  of  the  harness. 

"The  Chattertons,"  echoed  her  brother,  running  out  of 
the  room  to  meet  them. 

The  mother  of  Sir  Edward  was  a  daughter  of  this  fam- 
ily, and  the  sister  of  the  grandfather  of  the  present  lord. 
The  connection  had  always  been  kept  up  with  a  show  of 
cordiality  between  Sir  Edward  and  his  cousin,  although 
their  manner  of  living  and  habits  were  very  different.  The 
baron  was  a  courtier  and  a  placeman.  His  estates,  which 
he  could  not  alienate,  produced  about  ten  thousand  a  year, 
but  the  income  he  could  and  did  spend  ;  and  the  high  per- 
quisites of  his  situation  under  government,  amounting  to 
as  much  more,  were  melted  away  year  after  year,  without 
making  the  provision  for  his  daughters  that  his  duty  and 
the  observance  of  his  promise  to  his  wife's  father  required 
at  his  hands.  He  had  been  dead  about  two  years,  and  his 
son  found  himself  saddled  with  the  support  of  an  unjoint- 
ured  mother  and  unportioned  sisters.  Money  was  not  the 
idol  the  young  lord  'worshipped,  nor  even  pleasure.  He 
was  affectionate  to  his  surviving  parent,  and  his  first  act 
was  to  settle,  during  his  own  life,  two  thousand  a  year  on 
her  ;  while  he  commenced  setting  aside  as  much  more  for 
each  of  his  sisters  annually.  This  abridged  him  greatly 
in  his  own  expenditures  ;  yet,  as  they  made  but  one  fam- 
ily, and  the  dowager  was  really  a  managing  woman  in  more 
senses  than  one,  they  made  a  very  tolerable  figure.  The 
son  was  anxious  to  follow  the  example  of  Sir  Edward 
Moseley,  and  give  up  his  town-house,  for  at  least  a  time  ; 
but  his  mother  had  exclaimed,  with  something  like  horror, 
at  the  proposal— 

"Chatterton,  would  you  give  it  up  at  the  morr.^nt  it  can 
be  of  the  most  use  to  us  ? "  and  she  threw  a  glance  at  her 
daughters  that  would  have  discovered  her  motive  to  Mrs. 
Wilson,  which  was  lost  on  her  son  ;  he,  poor  soul,  think- 
ing she  found  it  convenient  to  support  the  interest 
he  had  been  making  for  the  place  held  by  his  father 
— one  of  more  emolument  than  service,  or  even  honor. 
The  contending  parties  were  so  equally  matched,  that  this 
situation  was  kept,  as  it  were,  in  abeyance,  waiting  the  ar< 


48  PRECA  UTION-. 

rival  of  some  acquisition  of  interest  to  one  or  other  of  the 
claimants.  The  interest  of  the  peer,  however,  had  begun 
•  o  lose  ground  at  the  period  of  which  we  speak,  and  his 
careful  mother  saw  new  motives  for  activity  in  providing 
for  her  children.  Mrs.  Wilson  herself  could  not  be  more 
vigilant  in  examining  the  candidates  for  Emily's  favors 
than  was  the  dowager  Lady  Chatterton  in  behalf  of  her 
daughter.  It  is  true,  the  task  of  the  former  lady  was  by 
far  the  most  arduous,  for  it  involved  a  study  of  character 
and  development  of  principle  ;  while  that  of  the  latter 
would  have  ended  with  the  footing  of  a  rent-roll,  provided 
it  contained  five  figures.  Sir  Edward's  was  well  known  to 
contain  that  number,  and  two  of  them  were  not  ciphers. 
Mr.  Benfield  was  rich,  and  John  Moseley  \vas  a  very  agree- 
able young  man.  "  Weddings  are  the  season  of  love," 
thought  the  prudent  dowager,  "and  Grace  is  extremely 
pretty."  Chatterton,  who  never  refused  his  mother  any- 
thing in  his  power  to  grant,  and  who  was  particularly  du- 
tiful when  a  visit  to  Moseley  Hall  was  in  question,  suf- 
fered himself  to  be  persuaded  his  shoulder  was  well  ;  and 
they  had  left  town  the  day  before  the  wedding,  thinking 
to  be  in  time  for  all  the  gayeties,  if  not  for  the  ceremony 
itself. 

There  existed  but  little  similarity  between  the  persons 
and  manners  of  this  young  nobleman  and  the  baronet's 
heir.  The  beauty  of  Chatterton  was  almost  feminine.  His 
skin,  his  color,  his  eyes,  his  teeth,  were  such  as  many  a 
belle  had  sighed  after ;  and  his  manners  were  bashful  and 
retiring.  Yet  an  intimacy  had  commenced  between  the 
boys  at  school,  which  ripened  into  friendship  between  the 
young  men  at  college,  and  had  been  maintained  ever  since, 
probably  as  much  from  the  contrarieties  of  character  as 
from  any  other  cause.  With  the  baron,  John  was  more 
sedate  than  ordinary  ;  with  John,  Chatterton  found  unusual 
animation.  But  a  secret  charm  which  John  held  over  the 
young  peer  was  his  profound  respect  and  unvarying  affec- 
tion for  his  youngest  sister,  Emily.  This  was  common 
ground  ;  and  no  dreams  of  future  happiness,  no  visions  of 
dawning  wealth,  crossed  the  imagination  of  Chatterton,  irt 
which  Emily  was  not  the  fairy  to  give  birth  to  the  one,  or 
the  benevolent  dispenser  of  the  hoards  of  the  other. 

The  arrival  of  this  family  was  a  happy  relief  from  the 
oppression  which  hung  on  the  spirits  of  the  Moseleys, 
and  their  reception  marked  with  the  mild  benevolence 
which  belonged  to  the  nature  of  the  baronet,  and  that  em* 


PR  EC  A  UTION.  49 

prcssement  which  so  eminently  distinguished  the  manners 
of  his  wife. 

The  Honorable  Misses  Chatterton  were  both  handsome  ; 
but  the  younger  was,  if  possible,  a  softened  picture  of  her 
brother.  There  was  the  same  retiring  bashfulness  and  the 
same  sweetness  of  temper  as  distinguished  the  baron,  and 
Grace  was  the  peculiar  favorite  of  Emily  Moseley.  Noth- 
ing of  the  strained  or  sentimental  nature  which  so  often 
characterizes  what  are  called  female  friendships,  however, 
had  crept  into  the  communications  between  these  young 
women.  Emily  loved  her  sisters  too  well  to  go  out  of 
her  own  family  for  a  repository  of  her  griefs  or  a  partaker 
in  her  joys.  Had  her  life  been  checkered  with  such  pas- 
sions, her  own  sisters  were  too  near  her  own  age  to  suffer 
her  to  think  of  a  confidence  in  which  the  holy  ties  of  nat- 
ural affection  did  not  give  a  claim  to  a  participation.  Mrs. 
Wilson  had  found  it  necessary  to  give  her  charge  very  dif- 
ferent views  on  many  subjects  from  those  which  Jane  and 
Clara  had  been  suffered  to  imbibe  of  themselves  ;  but  in 
no  degree  had  she  impaired  the  obligations  of  filial  piety 
or  family  concord.  Emily  was,  if  anything,  more  respect- 
ful to  her  parents,  more  affectionate  to  her  friends,  than 
any  of  her  connections  ;  for  in  her  the  warmth  of  natural 
feeling  was  heightened  by  an  unvarying  sense  of  duty. 

In  Grace  Chatterton  she  found,  in  many  respects,  a  tem- 
per and  taste  resembling  her  own.  She  therefore  loved 
her  better  than  others  who  had  equally  general  claims  on 
her  partiality,  and  as  such  a  friend  she  now  received  her 
with  cordial  and  sincere  affection. 

Jane,  who  had  not  felt  satisfied  with  the  ordering  of 
Providence  for  the  disposal  of  her  sympathies,  and  had 
long  felt  a  restlessness  that  prompted  her  to  look  abroad 
for  a  confiding  spirit  to  whom  to  communicate  her — secrets 
she  had  none  that  delicacy  would  suffer  her  to  reveal,  but 
to  communicate  her — crude  opinions  and  reflections,  had 
early  selected  Catherine  for  this  person.  Catherine,  how- 
ever, had  not  stood  the  test  of  trial.  For  a  short  time  the 
love  of  heraldry  kept  them  together  ;  but  Jane,  finding  her 
companion's  gusto  limited  to  the  charms  of  the  coronet 
and  supporters  chiefly,  abandoned  the  attempt  in  despair, 
and  was  actually  on  the  lookout  for  a  new  candidate  for 
the  vacant  station  as  Colonel  Egerton  came  into  the  neigh- 
borhood. A  really  delicate  female  mind  shrinks  from  the 
exposure  of  its  love  to  the  other  sex  ;  and  Jane  began  to  be 
less  anxious  to  form  a  connection  which  would  either  vio< 


50  PRECA  UTION. 

late  the  sensibility  of  her  nature,  or  lead  to  treachery  to 
her  friend. 

"  I  regret  extremely,  Lady  Moseley,"  said  the  dowager, 
as  they  entered  the  drawing-room,  "that  the  accident 
which  befell  Chatterton  should  have  kept  us  until  it  was 
too  late  for  the  ceremony  ;  we  made  it  a  point  to  hasten 
with  our  congratulations,  however,  as  soon  as  Astley  Cooper 
thought  it  safe  for  him  to  travel." 

"I  feel  indebted  for  your  kindness,"  replied  the  smiling 
hostess  ;  "  we  are  always  happy  to  have  our  friends  around 
us,  and  none  more  than  yourself  and  family.  We  were 
fortunate  in  finding  a  friend  to  supply  your  son's  place, 
in  order  that  the  young  people  might  go  to  the  altar 
in  a  proper  manner.  Lady  Chatterton,  allow  me  to  pre- 
sent our  friend,  Colonel  Egerton  " — adding,  in  a  low  tone, 
and  with  a  little  emphasis,  "heir  to  Sir  Edgar." 

The  colonel  bowed  gracefully,  and  the  dowager  dropped 
a  hasty  courtesy  at  the  commencement  of  the  speech  ;  but 
a  lower  bend  followed  the  closing  remark,  and  a  glance  of 
the  eye  was  thrown  in  quest  of  her  daughters,  as  if  she  in- 
stinctively wished  to  bring  them  into  what  the  sailors  term 
"  the  line  of  battle." 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE  following  morning,  Emily  and  Grace,  declining  the 
invitation  to  join  the  colonel  and  John  in  their  usual  rides, 
walked  to  the  rectory,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Wilson  and 
Chatterton.  The  ladies  felt  a  desire  to  witness  the  happi- 
ness that  they  so  well  knew  reigned  in  the  rectory,  for 
Francis  had  promised  his  father  to  drive  Clara  over  in  the 
course  of  the  day.  Emily  longed  to  see  Clara,  from  whom 
it  appeared  that  she  had  been  already  separated  a  month. 
Her  impatience  as  they  approached  the  house  hurried  her 
ahead  of  her  companions,  who  waited  the  more  sober  gait 
of  Mrs.  Wilson.  She  entered  the  parlor  at  the  rectory 
without  meeting  any  one,  glowing  with  exercise,  her  hair 
falling  over  her  shoulders,  released  from  the  confinement 
of  the  hat  she  had  thrown  down  hastily  as  she  reached  the 
door.  In  the  room  there  stood  a  gentleman  in  deep  blnck, 
with  his  back  toward  the  entrance,  intent  on  a  book,  and 
she  naturally  concluded  it  was  Francis. 


PRECAUTION.  $t 

"  Where  is  dear  Clara,  Frank  ? "  cried  the  beautiful  girl, 
laying  her  hand  affectionately  on  his  shoulder. 

The  gentleman  turned  suddenly,  and  presented  to  her 
astonished  gaze  the  well-remembered  countenance  of  the 
voung  man  whose  parent's  death  was  not  likely  to  be  for- 
gotten at  B . 

"I  thought,  sir,"  said  Emily,  almost  sinking  with  confu- 
sion, "that  Mr.  Francis  Ives  " 

"Your  brother  has  not  yet  arrived,  Miss  Moseley,"  sim- 
ply replied  the  stranger,  who  felt  for  her  embarrassment. 
"But  I  will  immediately  acquaint  Mrs.  Ives  with  your 
visit."  Bowing,  he  delicately  left  the  room. 

Emily,  who  felt  greatly  relieved  by  his  manner,  imme- 
diately confined  her  hair  in  its  proper  bounds,  and  had 
recovered  her  composure  by  the  time  her  aunt  and  friends 
joined  her.  She  had  no  time  to  mention  the  incident,  and 
laugh  at  her  own  precipitation,  when  the  rector's  wife 
came  into  the  room. 

Chatterton  and  his  sister  were  both  known  to  Mrs.  Ives, 
and  both  were  favorites.  She  was  pleased  to  see  them  ; 
and,  after  reproaching  the  brother  with  compelling  her 
son  to  ask  a  favor  of  a  comparative  stranger,  she  turned  to 
Emily,  and  smilingly  said — 

"You  found  the  partor  occupied,  I  believe?" 

"Yes,"  said  Emily,  laughing  and  blushing;  "I  suppose 
Mr.  Denbigh  told  you  of  my  heedlessness." 

"  He  told  me  of  your  attention  in  calling  so  soon  to  in- 
quire after  Clara,  but  said  nothing  more."  A  servant  just 
then  telling  her  Francis  wished  to  see  her,  she  excused 
herself  and  withdrew.  In  the  door  she  met  Mr.  Denbigh, 
who  made  way  for  her,  saying,  "Your  son  has  arrived, 
ma'am  ;  "  and  in  an  easy  but  respectful  manner  he  took  his 
place  among  the  guests,  no  introduction  passing,  and  none 
seeming  necessary.  His  misfortunes  appeared  to  have 
made  him  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Wilson,  and  his  strikingly 
ingenuous  manner  won  insensibly  on  the  confidence  of 
those  who  heard  him.  Everything  was  natural,  yet  every- 
thing was  softened  by  education  ;  and  the  little  party  in 
the  rector's  parlor  in  fifteen  minutes  felt  as  if  they  had 
known  him  for  years.  The  doctor  and  his  son  now  joined 
them.  Clara  had  not  come,  but  she  was  looking  forward 
in  delightful  expectation  of  to-morrow,  and  wished  greatly 
for  Emily  as  a  guest  at  the  new  abode.  This  pleasure  Mrs. 
Wilson  promised  she  should  have  as  soon  as  they  had  got 
ovr"  the  hurry  of  their  visit.  "Our  friends,"  she  added, 


$2  PRECAUTION. 

turning  to  Grace,  "  will  overlook  the  nicer  punctilios  of 
ceremony,  where  sisterly  regards  calls  for  the  discharge  of 
more  important  duties.  Clara  needs  the  society  of  Emily 
just  now." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Grace,  mildly  ;  "  I  hope  no  useless 
ceremony  on  the  part  of  Emily  would  prevent  her  mani- 
festing natural  attachment  to  her  sister — I  should  feel  hurt 
at  her  not  entertaining  a  better  opinion  of  us  than  to  sup- 
pose so  for  a  moment." 

"This,  young  ladies,  is  the  real  feeling  to  keep  alive 
esteem,"  cried  the  doctor,  gayly.  "  Go  on,  and  say  and  do 
nothing  of  which  either  can  disapprove,  when  tried  by  the 
standard  of  duty,  and  you  need  never  be  afraid  of  losing  a 
friend  that  is  worth  keeping." 

It  was  three  o'clock  before  the  carriage  of  Mrs.  Wilson 
arrived  at  the  rectory  ;  and  the  time  stole  away  insensibly 
in  free  and  friendly  communications.  Denbigh  had  joined 
modestly,  and  with  the  degree  of  interest  a  stranger  might 
be  supposed  to  feel  in  the  occurrences  of  a  circle  to  which 
he  was  nearly  a  stranger.  There  was  at  times  a  slight  dis- 
play of  awkwardness,  however,  about  both  him  and  Mrs. 
Ives,  for  which  Mrs.  Wilson  easily  accounted  by  recollec- 
tions of  his  recent  loss,  and  the  scene  they  had  all  wit- 
nessed in  that  very  room.  This  embarrassment  escaped 
the  notice  of  the  rest  of  the  party.  On  the  arrival  of  the 
carriage,  Mrs.  Wilson  took  her  leave. 

"  I  like  this  Mr.  Denbigh  greatly,"  said  Lord  Chatterton, 
as  the  drove  from  the  door ;  "  there  is  something  strikingly 
natural  and  winning  in  his  manner." 

"In  his  matter,  too,  judging  of  the  little  we  have  seen 
of  him,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilson. 

"Who  is  he,  ma'am?" 

"  I  rather  suspect  he  is  some  way  related  to  Mrs.  Ives. 
Her  staying  from  Bolton  to-day  must  be  owing  to  Mr. 
Denbigh  ;  and,  as  the  doctor  has  just  gone,  he  must  be 
near  enough  to  them  to  be  neither  wholly  neglected  nor 
yet  a  tax  upon  their  politeness.  I  rather  wonder  he  did 
not  go  with  them." 

"I  heard  him  tell  Francis,"  remarked  Emily,  "that  he 
could  not  think  of  intruding,  and  he  insisted  on  Mrs.  Ives's 
going,  but  she  had  employments  to  keep  her  at  home." 

The  carriage  soon  reached  an  angle  in  the  road  where 
the  highways  between  Bolton  Castle  and  Moseley  Hall 
intersected  each  other,  at  a  point  on  the  estate  of  the 
iormer.  Mrs.  Wilson  stopped  a  moment  to  inquire  after 


PRECA  UTION.  53 

an  aged  pensioner,  who  had  lately  met  with  a  loss  in  busi- 
ness, which  she  was  fearful  must  have  greatly  distressed 
him.  In  crossing  a  ford  in  the  little  river  between  his 
cottage  and  the  market-town,  the  stream,  which  had  been 
swollen  unexpectedly  higher  than  usual  by  heavy  rains, 
had  swept  away  his  horse  and  cart  loaded  with  the  entire 
produce  of  his  small  field,  and  with  much  difficulty  he  had 
saved  even  his  own  life.  Mrs.  Wilson  had  not  had  it  in  her 
power  until  this  moment  to  inquire  particularly  into  the 
affair,  or  to  offer  the  relief  she  was  ever  ready  to  bestow 
on  proper  objects.  Contrary  to  her  expectations,  she  found 
Humphreys  in  high  spirits,  showing  his  delighted  grand- 
children a  new  cart  and  horse  which  stood  at  the  door,  and 
exultingly  pointing  out  the  excellent  qualities  of  both. 
He  ceased  talking  on  the  approach  of  the  party,  and  at 
the  request  of  his  ancient  benefactress  he  gave  a  particu- 
lar account  of  the  affair. 

"  And  where  did  you  get  this  new  cart  and  horse,  Hum- 
phreys?" inquired  Mrs.  Wilson,  when  he  had  ended. 

"  Oh,  madam,  I  went  up  to  the  castle  to  see  the  steward, 
and  Mr.  Martin  just  mentioned  my  loss  to  Lord  Penden- 
nyss,  ma'am,  and  my  lord  ordered  me  this  cart,  ma'am, 
and  this  noble  horse,  and  twenty  golden  guineas  into  the 
bargain,  to  put  me  on  my  legs  again.  •  God  bless  him  for 
it,  forever." 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  his  lordship,  indeed,"  said  Mrs. 
Wilson,  thoughtfully.  "  I  did  not  know  he  was  at  the 
castle." 

"  He's  gone  already,  madam.  The  servants  told  me  that 
he  just  called  to  see  the  earl,  on  his  way  to  Lon'on ;  but, 
finding  he'd  went  a  few  days  agone  to  Ireland,  my  lord 
went  for  Lon'on,  without  stopping  the  night  even.  Ah.! 
madam,"  continued  the  old  man,  who  stood  leaning  on  a 
stick,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  "  he's  a  great  blessing  to 
the  poor  ;  his  servants  say  he  gives  thousands  every  year 
to  the  poor  who  are  in  want  :  he  is  main  rich,  too — some 
people  say  much  richer  and  more  great  like  than  the  earl 
himself.  I'm  sure  I  have  need  to  bless  him  every  day  of 
my  life." 

Mrs.  Wilson  smiled  mournfully  as  she  wished  Hum- 
phreys good  day,  and  put  up  her  purse,  finding  the  old 
man  so  well  provided  for  ;  a  display  of  competition  in 
charity  never  entering  into  her  system  of  benevolence. 

"  His  lordship  is  munificent  in  his  bounty,"  said  Emily, 
as  they  drove  from  the  door. 


54  PRECA  UTIOtf. 

11  Does  it  not  savor  of  thoughtlessness  to  bestow  so  much 
where  he  can  know  so  little  ? "  Lord  Chatterton  ventured 
to  inquire. 

"  He  is,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilson,  "as  old  Humphreys  says, 
main  rich  ;  but  the  son  of  the  old  man,  and  the  father  of 

these  children,  is  a  soldier  in  the th  dragoons,  of  which 

the  earl  is  colonel,  and  that  accounts  to  me  for  his  liber- 
ality " — recollecting,  with  a  sigh,  the  feelings  which  had 
drawn  her  out  of  the  usual  circle  of  her  charities  in  the 
case  of  this  same  man. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  Lord  Pendennyss,  aunt  ? " 

"  Never,  my  dear.  He  has  been  much  abroad,  but  my 
letters  were  filled  with  his  praises,  and  I  confess  my  disap- 
pointment is  great  in  not  seeing  him  on  this  visit  to  Lord 
Bolton,  who  is  his  relation  ;  but,"  fixing  her  eyes  thought- 
fully on  her  niece,  "  we  shall  meet  in  London  this  winter, 
I  trust." 

As  she  spoke,  a  cloud  passed  over  her  features,  and  she 
continued  much  absorbed  in  thought  for  the  remainder  of 
their  drive. 

General  Wilson  had  been  a  cavalry  officer,  and  he  com- 
manded the  very  regiment  now  held  by  Lord  Pendennyss. 
In  an  excursion  near  the  British  camp  he  had  been  rescued 
from  captivity,  if  not  from  death,  by  a  gallant  and  timely 
interference  of  this  young  nobleman,  then  in  command  of 
a  troop  in  the  same  corps.  He  had  mentioned  the  occur- 
rence to  his  wife  in  his  letters,  and  from  that  day  his  cor- 
respondence was  filled  with  the  praises  of  the  bravery  and 
goodness  to  the  soldiery  of  his  young  comrade.  When  he 
fell,  he  had  been  supported  from  the  field  by,  and  he  actually 
died  in  the  arms  of,  the  young  peer.  A  letter  announcing 
his  death  had  been  received  by  his  widow  from  the  earl 
himself,  and  the  tender  and  affectionate  manner  in  which 
he  spoke  of  her  husband  had  taken  a  deep  hold  on 
her  affections.  All  the  circumstances  together  threw  an 
interest  around  him  that  had  made  Mrs.  Wilson  almost  en- 
tertain the  romantic  wish  he  might  be  found  worthy  and 
disposed  to  solicit  the  hand  of  Emily.  Her  anxious  in- 
quiries into  his  character  had  been  attended  with  such  an- 
swers as  flattered  her  wishes  :  but  the  military  duties  of 
the  earl,  or  his  private  affairs,  had  never  allowed  a  meet- 
ing :  and  she  was  now  compelled  to  look  forward  to  what 
John  laughingly  termed  their  winter  campaign,  as  the  only 
probable  place  where  she  could  be  gratified  with  the  sight 
of  a  young  man  to  whom  she  owed  so  much,  and  whose 


PRECA  UTION.  55 

name  was  connected  with  some  of  the  most  tender  though 
most  melancholy  recollections  of  her  life. 

Colonel  Egerton,  who  now  appeared  to  be  almost  do- 
mesticated in  the  family,  was  again  of  the  party  at  dinner, 
to  the  no  small  satisfaction  of  the  dowager,  who  from 
proper  inquiries  in  the  course  of  the  day  had  learned 
that  Sir  Edgar's  heir  was  likely  to  have  the  necessary 
number  of  figures  in  the  sum  total  of  his  rental.  While 
sitting  in  the  drawing-room  that  afternoon,  she  made  an 
attempt  to  bring  her  eldest  daughter  and  the  elegant 
soldier  together  over  a  chess-board — a  game  the  young 
lady  had  been  required  to  learn  because  it  was  one  at 
which  a  gentleman  could  be  kept  longer  than  any  other 
without  having  his  attention  drawn  away  by  any  of  those 
straggling  charms  which  might  be  travelling  a  drawing- 
room  "  seeking  whom  they  may  devour."  It  was  also  a 
game  admirably  suited  to  the  display  of  a  beautiful  hand 
and  arm.  But  the  mother  had  for  a  long  time  been  puz- 
zled to  discover  a  way  of  bringing  in  the  foot  also,  the 
young  lady  being  particularly  remarkable  for  the  beauty 
of  that  portion  of  the  frame.  In  vain  her  daughter  hinted 
at  dancing,  an  amusement  of  which  she  was  passionately 
fond.  The  wary  mother  knew  too  well  the  effects  of  con- 
centrated force  to  listen  to  the  suggestion:  dancing  might 
do  for  every  manager,  but  she  prided  herself  in  acting  en 
masse,  like  Napoleon,  whose  tactics  consisted  in  overwhelm- 
ing by  uniting  his  forces  on  a  given  point.  After  many 
experiments  in  her  own  person,  she  endeavored  to  im- 
prove Catharine's  manner  of  sitting,  and  by  dint  of  twist- 
ing and  turning  she  contrived  that  her  pretty  foot  and 
ankle  should  be  thrown  forward  in  a  way  that  the  eye, 
dropping  from  the  move,  should  unavoidably  rest  on  this 
beauteous  object ;  giving,  as  it  were,  a  Scylla  and  Charyb- 
dis  to  her  daughter's  charms. 

John  Moseley  was  the  first  person  on  whom  she  under- 
took to  try  the  effect  of  her  invention  ;  and,  after  comfort- 
ably seating  the  parties,  she  withdrew  to  a  little  distance, 
to  watch  the  effect. 

"Check  to  your  king,  Miss  Chatterton,"  cried  John, 
early  in  the  game — and  the  young  lady  thrust  out  her  foot. 
"  Check  to  your  king,  Mr.  Moseley,"  echoed  the  damsel, 
and  John's  eyes  wandered  from  hand  to  foot  and  foot  to 
hand.  "  Check  king  and  queen,  sir."— "Check-mate. "- 
"  Did  you  speak  ?"  said  John.  Looking  up,  he  caught  the 
eye  of  the  dowager  fixed  on  him  in  triumph.  "Oh,  ho!" 


56  PR  EC  A  UTfOJV. 

said  the  young  man,  internally,  "  Mother  Chatterton,  are 
'you  plaving  too  ?  "  and,  coolly  taking  up  his  hat,  he  walked 
off,  nor  could  they  ever  get  him  seated  at  the  game  again. 

"You  beat  me  too  easily,  Miss  Chatterton,"  he  would 
say  when  pressed  to  play  ;  "  before  I  have  time  to  look  up, 
it's  '  Check-mate  ' — excuse  me." 

The  dowager  next  settled  down  into  a  more  covert  attack 
through  Grace  ;  but  here  she  had  two  to  contend  with  ; 
her  own  forces  rebelled,  and  the  war  had  been  protracted 
to  the  present  hour  with  varied  success,  and  at  least  with- 
out any  material  captures,  on  one  side. 

Colonel  Egerton  entered  on  the  duties  of  his  dangerous 
undertaking  with  the  indifference  of  foolhardiness.  The 
game  was  played  with  tolerable  ability  by  both  parties  ; 
but  no  emotions,  no  absence  of  mind,  could  be  discovered 
on  the  part  of  the  gentleman.  Feet  and  hands  were  in 
motion  ;  still  the  colonel  played  as  well  as  usual  ;  he  had 
answers  for  all  Jane's  questions,  and  smiles  for  his  part- 
ner;  but  no  check-mate  could  she  obtain  until,  wilfully 
throwing  away  an  advantage,  he  suffered  the  lady  to  win 
the  game.  The  dowager  was  satisfied  nothing  could  be 
done  with  the  colonel. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  first  carriages  that  rolled  over  the  lawn  to  Bolton 
parsonage,  on  the  succeeding  day,  were  those  of  the  bar- 
onet and  his  sister  ;  the  latter  in  advance. 

"There,  Francis,"  cried  Emily,  who  was  impatiently 
waiting  for  him  to  remove  some  slight  obstruction  to  her 
alighting — "thank  you,  thank  you  ;  that  will  do." 

In  the  next  moment  she  was  in  the  extended  arms  of 
Clara.  After  pressing  each  other  to  their  bosoms  for  a  few 
moments  in  silence,  Emily  looked  up,  with  a  tear  glisten- 
ing in  her  eye,  and  first  noticed  the  form  of  Denbigh,  who 
was  modestly  withdrawing,  as  if  unwilling  to  intrude  on 
such  pure  and  domestic  feelings  as  the  sisters  were  betray- 
ing, unconscious  of  the  presence  of  a  witness.  Mrs.  Wil- 
son and  Jane,  followed  by  Miss  Chatterton,  nowT  entered, 
and  cordial  salutes  and  greetings  flowed  upon  Clara  from 
her  various  friends. 

The  baronet's  coach  reached  the  door ;  it  contained  him- 
self and  wife,  Mr.  Benfield,  and  Lady  Chatterton.  Clan 


PRECA  VTWN; 


57 


stood  on  the  portico  of  the  building,  ready  to  receive  them  ; 
her  face  all  smiles,  and  tears,  and  blushes,  and  her  arm 
locked  in  that  of  Emily. 

"  I  wish  you  joy  of  your  new  abode,  Mrs.  Francis."  Lady 
Moseley  forgot  her  form,  and,  bursting  into  tears,  she 
pressed  her  daughter  with  ardor  to  her  bosom. 

"  Clara,  my  love  !  "  said  the  baronet,  hastily  wiping  his 
eyes,  and  succeeding  his  wife  in  the  embrace  of  their  child. 
He  kissed  her,  and,  pressing  Francis  by  the  hand,  walked 
into  the  house  in  silence. 

"Well,  well,"  .cried  the  dowager,  as  she  saluted  her 
cousin,  "all  looks  comfortable  and  genteel  here,  upon  my 
word,  Mrs.  Ives  :  grapery — hot-houses — everything  in  good 
style,  too  ;  and  Sir  Edward  tells  me  the  living  is  worth  a 
good  five  hundred  a  year." 

"  So,  girl,  I  suppose  you  expect  a  kiss,"  said  Mr.  Ben- 
field,  who  ascended  the  steps  slowly  and  with  difficulty. 
"  Kissing  has  gone  much  out  of  fashion  lately.  I  remem- 
ber, on  the  marriage  of  my  friend,  Lord  Gosford,  in  the 
year  fifty-eight,  that  all  the  maids  and  attendants  were 
properly  saluted  in  order.  The  lady  Juliana  was  quite 
young  then — not  more  than  fifteen  ;  it  was  there  I  got  my 
first  salute  from  her — but — so — kiss  me."  After  which  he 
continued,  as  they  went  into  the  house  :  "  Marrying  in  that 
day  was  a  serious  business.  You  might  visit  a  lady  a  dozen 
times  before  you  could  get  a  sight  of  her  naked  hand. 
Who's  that  ? "  stopping  short,  and  looking  earnestly  at  Den- 
bigh, who  now  approached  them. 

"  Mr.  Denbigh,  sir,"  said  Clara;  "my  uncle,  Mr.  Ben- 
field." 

"  Did  you  ever  know,  sir,  a  gentleman  of  your  name, 
who  sat  in  the  Parliament  of  this  realm  in  the  year  sixty  ?  " 
Mr.  Benfield  abruptly  asked,  as  soon  as  the  civilities  of  the 
introduction  were  exchanged.  "You  don't  look  much  like 
him." 

"That  was  rather  before  my  day,  sir,"  said  Denbigh, 
with  a  smile,  respectfully  offering  to  relieve  Clara,  who 
supported  him  on  one  side,  while  Emily  held  his  arm  on 
the  other. 

The  old  gentleman  was  particularly  averse  to  strangers, 
and  Emily  was  in  terror  lest  he  should  say  something  rude  ; 
but,  after  examining  Denbigh  again  from  head  to  foot,  he 
took  the  offered  arm,  and  coolly  replied —  t 

"True,  very  true;  that  \vas  sixty  years  ago;  you  can 
hardly  recollect  as  long.  Ah!  Mr.  Denbigh,  times  are 


58  PRECAUTION. 

sadly  altered  since  my  youth.  People  who  were  then  glad 
to  ride  on  a  pillion  now  drive  their  coaches  ;  men  who 
thought  ale  a  luxury,  drink  their  port ;  ay !  and  those  who 
went  barefoot  must  have  their  shoes  and  stockings,  too. 
Luxury,  sir,  and  the  love  of  ease,  will  ruin  this  mighty  em- 
pire. Corruption  has  taken  hold  of  everything ;  the  min- 
istry buy  the  members,  the  members  buy  the  ministry  ; 
everything  is  bought  and  sold.  Now,  sir,  in  the  Parlia- 
ment in  which  I  had  the  honor  of  a  seat,  there  was  a  knot 
of  us,  as  upright  as  posts,  sir.  My  Lord  Gosford  was  one, 
and  General  Denbigh  was  another,  although  I  can't  say  he 
was  much  a  favorite  with  me.  You  do  not  look  in  the  least 
like  him.  How  was  he  related  to  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  He  was  my  grandfather,"  replied  Denbigh,  looking 
pleasantly  at  Emily,  as  if  to  tell  her  he  understood  the 
character  of  her  uncle. 

Had  the  old  man  continued  his  speech  an  hour  longer, 
Denbigh  would  not  have  complained.  They  had  stopped 
while  talking,  and  he  thus  became  confronted  with  the 
beautiful  figure  that  supported  the  other  arm.  Denbigli 
contemplated  in  admiration  the  varying  countenance  which 
now  blushed  with  apprehension,  and  now  smiled  in  affec- 
tion, or  even  with  an  archer  expression,  as  her  uncle  pro- 
ceeded in  his  harangue  on  the  times.  But  all  felicity  in 
this  world  has  an  end,  as  well  as  misery.  Denbigh  retained 
the  recollection  of  that  speech  long  after  Mr.  Benfield  was 
comfortably  seated  in  the  parlor,  though  for  his  life  he 
could  not  recollect  a  word  he  had  said. 

The  Haughtons,  the  Jarvises,  and  a  few  more  of  their 
intimate  acquaintances,  arrived,  and  the  parsonage  had  a 
busy  air ;  but  John,  who  had  undertaken  to  drive  Grace 
Chatterton  in  his  own  phaeton,  was  yet  absent.  Some  lit- 
tle anxiety  had  begun  to  be  manifested,  when  he  appeared, 
dashing  through  the  gates  at  a  great  rate,  and  with  the 
skill  of  a  member  of  the  four-in-hand. 

Lady  Chatterton  had  begun  to  be  seriously  uneasy,  and 
she  was  about  to  speak  to  her  son  to  go  in  quest  of  them, 
as  they  came  in  sight ;  but  now  her  fears  vanished,  and  she 
could  only  suppose  that  a  desire  to  have  Grace  alone  could 
keep  one  who  had  the  reputation  of  a  Jehu  so  much  be- 
hind the  rest  of  the  party.  She  met  them  in  great  spirits, 
crying  : 

"  Upon  my  word,  Mr.  Moseley,  I  began  to  think  you  had 
taken  the  road  to  Scotland,  you  staid  so  long." 

"  Your  daughter,  my  Lady  Chatterton,"  said  John,  pithi- 


PR  EC  A  UTION.  59 

ly,  "  would  go  to  Scotland  neither  with  me  nor  any  other 
man,  or  T  am  greatly  deceived  in  her  character.  Clara,  my 
sister,  how  do  you  do  ?  "  He  saluted  the  bride  with  great 
warmth  and  affection. 

"  But  what  detained  you,  Moseley  ? "  inquired  the 
mother. 

"  One  of  the  horses  was  restive,  and  he  broke  the  har- 
ness. We  merely  stopped  in  the  village  while  it  was 
mended." 

"  And  how  did  Grace  behave  ?  "  asked  Emily,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  a  thousand  times  better  than  you  would,  sister  ;  as 
she  always  does,  and  like  an  angel." 

The  only  point  in  dispute  between  Emily  and  her  brother 
was  her  want  of  faith  in  his  driving ;  while  poor  Grace, 
naturally  timid,  and  unwilling  to  oppose  any  one,  particu- 
larly the  gentleman  who  then  held  the  reins,  had  governed 
herself  sufficiently  to  be  silent  and  motionless.  Indeed, 
she  could  hardly  do  otherwise  had  she  wished  it,  so  great 
was  his  impetuosity  of  character  ;  and  John  felt  flattered 
to  a  degree  of  which  he  was  himself  unconscious.  Self- 
complacency,  aided  by  the  merit,  the  beauty,  and  the  deli- 
cacy of  the  young  lady  herself,  might  have  led  to  the  very 
results  her  mother  so  anxiously  wished  to  produce,  had 
that  mother  been  satisfied  with  letting  things  take  their 
course.  But  managers  very  generally  overdo  their  -work. 

"  Grace  is  a  good  girl,"  said  her  gratified  mother  ;  "and 
you  found  her  very  valiant,  Mr.  Moseley  ?" 

"  Oh,  as  brave  as  Caesar,"  answered  John,  carelessly,  in 
a  way  that  was  not  quite  free  from  irony. 

Grace,  whose  burning  cheek  showed  but  too  plainly  that 
praise  from  John  Moseley  was  an  incense  too  powerful  for 
her  resistance,  now  sank  back  behind  some  of  the  company 
endeavoring  to  conceal  the  tears  that  almost  gushed  from 
her  eyes.  Denbigh  was  a  silent  spectator  of  the  whole 
scene,  and  he  now  considerately  observed,  that  he  had 
lately  seen  an  improvement  which  would  obviate  the  diffi- 
culty Mr.  Moseley  had  experienced.  John  turned  to  the 
speaker,  and  they  were  soon  engaged  in  the  discussion  of 
curbs  and  buckles,  when  the  tilbury  of  Colonel  Egerton 
drove  to  the  door,  containing  himself  and  his  friend,  the 
captain. 

The  bride  undoubtedly  received  congratulations  that 
day  more  sincere  than  those  which  were  now  offered,  but 
none  were  delivered  in  a  more  graceful  and  insinuating 
manner  than  the  compliments  which  fell  from  Colonel 


<5o  PRECA  UTION. 

Egerton.  He  passed  round  the  room,  speaking  to  his  ac- 
quaintances, until  he  arrived  at  the  chair  of  Jane,  who  was 
seated  next  her  aunt.  Here  he  stopped,  and,  glancing  his 
eye  round,  and  saluting  with  bows  and  smiles  the  re- 
mainder of  the  party,  he  appeared  fixed  at  the  centre  of 
all  attraction. 

"  There  is  a  gentleman  I  think  I  have  never  seen  before," 
he  observed  to  Mrs.  Wilson,^  casting  his  eyes  on  Denbigh, 
whose  back  was  toward  him,  in  discourse  with  Mr.  Benfield. 

"It  is  Mr.  Denbigh,  of  whom  you  heard  us  speak, "re- 
plied Mrs.  Wilson.  While  she  spoke,  Denbigh  faced  them. 
Egerton  started  as  he  caught  a  view  of  his  face,  and  seemed 
to  gaze  on  the  countenance  which  was  open  to  his  inspec- 
tion with  an  earnestness  that  showed  an  interest  of  some 
kind,  but  of  a  nature  that  was  inexplicable  to  Mrs.  Wilson, 
who  was  the  only  observer  of  this  singular  recognition  ; 
for  such  it  evidently  was.  All  was  now  natural  in  the 
colonel  for  the  moment  ;  his  color  sensibly  changed,  and 
there  was  an  expression  of  doubt  in  his  face.  It  might  be 
fear,  it  might  be  horror,  it  might  be  a  strong  aversion  ;  it 
clearly  was  not  love.  Emily  sat  by  her  aunt,  and  Denbigh 
approached  them,  making  a  cheerful  remark.  It  was  im- 
possible for  the  colonel  to  avoid  him  had  he  wished  it,  and 
he  kept  his  ground.  Mrs.  Wilson  thought  she  would  try 
the  experiment  of  an  introduction. 

"  Colonel  Egerton— Mr.  Denbigh." 

Both  gentlemen  bowed,  but  nothing  striking  was  seen 
in  the  deportment  of  either.  The  colonel,  who  was  not 
exactly  at  ease,  said  hastily — 

"Mr.  Denbigh  is  or  has  been  in  the  army,  I  believe." 

Denbigh  was  now  taken  by  surprise  in  his  turn.  He 
cast  a  look  on  Egerton  of  fixed  and  settled  meaning  ;  then 
carelessly  observed,  but  still  as  if  requiring  an  answer  - 

"  I  am  yet  ;  but  I  do  not  recollect  having  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  with  Colonel  Egerton  on  service." 

"Your  countenance  is  familiar,  sir,"  replied  the  colonel, 
coldly  ;  "  but  at  this  moment  I  cannot  tax  my  memory  with 
the  place  of  our  meeting,  though  one  sees  so  many 
strange  faces  in  a  campaign,  that  they  come  and  go  like 
shadows." 

He  then  changed  the  conversation.  It  was  some  time, 
however,  before  either  gentleman  entirely  recovered  his 
ease,  and  many  days  elapsed  ere  anything  like  intercourse 
passed  between  them.  The  colonel  attached  himself  dur- 
ing this  visit  to  Jane,  with  occasional  notices  of  the  Misses 


PRECA  UTION.  67 

Jarvis,  who  began  to  manifest  symptoms  of  uneasiness  at 
the  decided  preference  he  showed  to  a  lady  they  now 
chose  to  look  upon,  in  some  measure,  as  a  rival. 

Mrs.  Wilson  and  her  charge,  on  the  other  hand,  were 
entertained  by  the  conversation  of  Chatterton  and  Den- 
bigh, relieved  by  occasional  sallies  from  the  lively  John. 
There  was  something  in  the  person  and  manners  of  Den- 
bigh that  insensibly  attracted  those  whom  chance  threw 
in  his  way.  His  face  was  not  strikingly  handsome,  but  it 
was  noble  ;  and  when  he  smiled,  or  was  much  animated,  it 
invariably  communicated  a  spark  of  his  own  enthusiasm  to 
the  beholder.  His  figure  was  faultless  ;  his  air  and  man- 
ner, if  less  easy  than  those  of  Colonel  Egerton,  were  more 
sincere  and  ingenuous  ;  his  breeding  was  clearly  higher  ; 
his  respect  for  others  rather  bordering  on  the  old  school. 
But  in  his  voice  there  existed  a  charm  which  would  make 
him,  when  he  spoke,  to  a  female  ear,  almost  resistless  :  it 
was  soft,  deep,  melodious,  and  winning. 

"  Baronet,"  said  the  rector,  looking  with  a  smile  toward 
his  son  and  daughter,  "  I  love  to  see  my  children  happy, 
and  Mrs.  Ives  threatens  a  divorce  if  I  go  on  in  the  manner 
I  have  commenced.  She  says  I  desert  her  for  Bolton." 

"Why,  doctor,  if  our  wives  conspire  against  us,  and  pre- 
vent our  enjoying  a  comfortable  dish  of  tea  with  Clara,  or 
a  glass  of  wine  with  Frank,  we  must  call  in  the  higher 
authorities  as  umpires.  What  say  you,  sister  ?  Is  a 
parent  to  desert  his  child  in  any  case  ? " 

"  My  opinion  is,"  said  Mrs  Wilson,  with  a  smile,  yet 
speaking  with  emphasis,  "  that  a  parent  is  not  to  desert  a 
child,  in  any  case  or  in  any  manner." 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  my  Lady  Moseley  ? "  cried  the  good- 
humored  baronet. 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  my  Lady  Chatterton  ?"  echoed  John, 
who  had  just  taken  a  seat  by  Grace,  when  her  mother 
approached  them. 

"  I  hear  it,  but  do  not  see  the  application,  Mr.  Moseley." 

"  No,  my  lady  !  Why,  there  is  the  honorable  Miss  Chat- 
terton almost  dying  to  play  a  game  of  her  favorite  chess 
with  Mr.  Denbigh.  She  has  beaten  us  all  but  him,  and 
her  triumph  will  not  be  complete  until  she  has  him,  too, 
at  her  feet." 

And  as  Denbigh  politely  offered  to  meet  the  challenge, 
the  board  was  produced,  and  the  parties  were  seated. 
Lady  Chatterton  stood  leaning  over  her  daughter's  chair 
—with  a  view,  however,  to  prevent  any  of  those  conse* 


62  PRECA  UTION. 

quences  she  was  generally  fond  of  seeing  result  from  this 
amusement ;  every  measure  taken  by  this  prudent  mother 
being  literally  governed  by  judicious  calculation. 

"  Umph  !  "  thought  John,  as  he  viewed  the  players,  while 
listening  with  pleasure  to  the  opinions  of  Grace,  who  had 
recovered  her  composure  and  spirits — "  Kate,  after  all,  has 
played  one  game  without  using  her  feet." 


CHAPTER    XL 

TEN  days  or  a  fortnight  flew  swiftly  by,  during  which 
Mrs.  Wilson  suffered  Emily  to  give  Clara  a  week,  having 
first  ascertained  that  Denbigh  was  a  settled  resident  at  the 
rectory,  and  thereby  not  likely  to  be  oftener  at  the  house 
of  Francis  than  at  the  Hall,  where  he  was  a  frequent  and 
welcome  guest,  both  on  his  own  account  and  as  a  friend  of 
Doctor  Ives.  Emily  had  returned,  and  she  brought  the 
bride  and  groom  with  her  ;  when  one  evening  as  they  were 
pleasantly  seated  at  their  various  amusements,  with  the 
ease  of  old  acquaintances,  Mr.  Haughton  entered.  It  was 
at  an  hour  rather  unusual  for  his  visits  ;  and,  throwing 
down  his  hat,  after  making  the  usual  inquiries,  he  began 
without  preface : 

"  I  know,  good  people,  you  are  all  wondering  what  has 
brought  me  out  this  time  of  night  ;  but  the  truth  is,  Lucy 
has  coaxed  her  mother  to  persuade  me  into  a  ball  in  honor 
of  the  times.  So,  my  lady,  I  have  consented  ;  and  my  wife 

and  daughter  have  been  buying  up  all  the  finery  in  B , 

by  the  way,  I  suppose,  of  anticipating  their  friends.  There 
is  a  regiment  of  foot  come  into  barracks  within  fifteen 
miles  of  us,  and  to-morrow  I  must  beat  up  for  recruits 
among  the  officers — girls  are  never  wanting  on  such  occa- 
sions." 

"Why,"  cried  the  baronet,  "you  are  growing  young 
again,  my  friend." 

"  No,  Sir  Edward,  but  my  daughter  is  young,  and  life 
has  so  many  cares,  that  I  am  willing  she  should  get  rid  of 
as  many  as  she  can  at  my  expense." 

"  Surely  you  would  not  wish  her  to  dance  them  away," 
said  Mrs.  Wilson.  "  Such  relief,  I  am  afraid,  will  prove 
temporary." 

-'Do  you    disapprove    of   dancing,    ma'am?"  said  Mr 


PRECA  UTION.  63 

Haughton,  who  held  her  opinions  in  great  respect,  as  well 
as  a  little  dread. 

"  I  neither  approve  nor  disapprove  of  it.  Jumping  up  and 
down  is  innocent  enough  in  itself,  and,  if  it  must  be  done, 
it  is  well  it  were  done  gracefully.  As  for  the  accompani- 
ments of  dancing,  I  say  nothing — what  do  you  say,  Doctor 
Ives?" 

"  To  what,  my  dear  madarn  ? " 

"  To  dancing." 

"Oh,  let  the  girls  dance,  if  they  enjoy  it." 

"I  am  glad  you  think  so,  doctor,"  cried  the  delighted 
Mr.  Haughton.  "  I  was  afraid  I  recollected  your  advising 
your  son  never  to  dance  nor  to  play  at  games  of  chance." 

"  You  thought  right,  my  friend,"  said  the  doctor,  laying 
down  his  newspaper  ;  "  I  did  give  that  advice  to  Frank, 
whom  you  will  please  to  remember  is  now  rector  of  Bolton. 
I  do  not  object  to  dancing  as  not  innocent  in  itself,  or  as 
an  elegant  exercise  ;  but  it  is,  like  drinking,  generally  car- 
ried to  excess.  Now,  as  a  Christian,  I  am  opposed  to  all 
excesses  ;  the  music  and  company  lead  to  intemperance  in 
the  recreation,  and  they  often  induce  neglect  of  duties — 
but  so  may  anything  else." 

"  I  like  a  game  of  whist,  doctor,  greatly,"  said  Mr.  Haugh- 
ton ;  "  but  observing  that  you  never  play,  and  recollecting 
your  advice  to  Mr.  Francis,  I  have  forbidden  cards  when 
you  are  my  guest." 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  compliment,  good  sir,"  replied  the 
doctor,  with  a  smile  ;  "  still  I  would  much  rather  see  you 
play  cards  than  hear  you  talk  scandal,  as  you  sometimes 
do." 

"  Scandal  !  "  echoed  Mr.  Haughton. 

"  Ay,  scandal,"  said  the  doctor,  coolly,  "  such  as  the  re- 
mark you  made  the  last  time,  which  was  only  yesterday,  I 
called  to  see  you.  You  accused  Sir  Edward  of  being  wrong 
in  letting  that  poacher  off  so  easily  ;  the  baronet,  you  said, 
did  not  shoot  himself,  and  did  not  know  how  to  prize  game 
as  he  ought." 

"  Scandal,  doctor — do  you  call  that  scandal  ?  Why,  I  told 
Sir  Edward  so  himself,  two  or  three  times." 

"  I  know  you  did,  and  that  was  rude." 

"  Rude  !  I  hope  sincerely  Sir  Edward  has  put  no  such 
construction  on  it  ? " 

The  baronet  smiled  kindly,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Because  the  baronet  chooses  to  forgive  your  offences, 
it  does  not  alter  their  nature,"  said  the  doctor,  gravely, 


^4  PRECA  UTION. 

"  no,  you  must  repent  and  amend ;  you  impeached  his 
motives  for  doing  a  benevolent  act,  and  that  I  call  scan- 
dal." 

"  Why,  doctor,  I  was  angry  the  fellow  should  be  let 
loose  ;  he  is  a  pest  to  all  the  game  in  the  county,  and 
every  sportsman  will  tell  you  so.  Here,  Mr.  Moseley,  you 
know  Jackson,  the  poacher  ?" 

"  Oh  !  a  poacher  is  an  intolerable  wretch  !  "  cried  Captain 
Jarvis. 

"  Oh  !  a  poacher,"  echoed  John,  looking  drolly  at  Emily 
— "  hang  all  poachers  !  " 

"  Poacher  or  no  poacher,  does  not  alter  the  scandal," 
said  the  doctor.  "  Now  let  me  tell  you,  good  sir,  I  would 
rather  play  at  fifty  games  of  whist  than  make  one  such 
speech,  unless  indeed  it  interfered  with  my  duties.  Now, 
sir,  with  your  leave,  I'll  explain  myself  as  to  my  son. 
There  is  an  artificial  levity  about  dancing  that  adds  to  the 
dignity  of  no  man  ;  from  some  it  may  detract.  A  clergy- 
man, for  instance,  is  supposed  to  have  other  things  to  do  ; 
and  it  might  hurt  him  in  the  opinions  of  those  with  whom 
his  influence  is  necessary,  and  impair  his  usefulness : 
therefore  a  clergyman  should  never  dance.  In  the  same 
way  with  cards  :  they  are  the  common  instruments  of 
gambling,  and  an  odium  is  attached  to  them  on  that 
account.  Women  and  clergymen  must  respect  the  preju- 
dices of  mankind  in  some  cases,  or  lose  their  influence  in 
society." 

"  I  did  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  your  company, 
doctor,"  said  Mr.  Haughton,  hesitatingly. 

"  And  if  it  will  give  you  pleasure,"  cried  the  rector, 
"  you  shall  have  it  with  all  my  heart,  good  sir ;  it  would  be 
a  greater  evil  to  wdund  the  feelings  of  such  a  neighbor  as 
Mr.  Haughton,  than  to  show  my  face  once  at  a  ball." 
And,  rising,  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  other 
kindly.  "  Both  your  scandal  and  rudeness  are  easily  for- 
given ;  but  I  wished  to  show  you  the  common  error  of 
the  world,  which  has  attached  odium  to  certain  things, 
while  it  charitably  overlooks  others  of  a  more  heinous 
nature." 

Mr.  Haughton,  who  had  at  first  been  a  little  staggered 
with  the  attack  of  the  doctor,  recovered  himself,  and,  lay- 
ing a  handful  of  notes  on  the  table,  hoped  he  should  have 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  everybody.  The  invitation  was 
generally  accepted,  and  the  worthy  man  departed,  happ^ 
if  his  friends  did  but  come,  and  were  pleased. 


PR  EC  A  UTION.  65 

"  Do  you  dance,  Miss  Moseley?"  inquired  Denbigh  of 
Emily,  as  he  sat  watching  her  graceful  movements  in  net- 
ting a  purse  for  her  father. 

"  Oh,  yes !  the  doctor  said  nothing  of  us  girls,  you 
know.  I  suppose  he  thinks  we  have  no  dignity  to  lose." 

"Admonitions  are  generally  thrown  away  on  young 
ladies  when  pleasure  is  in  the  question,"  said  the  doctor, 
with' a  look  of  almost  paternal  affection. 

"  I  hope  you  do  not  seriously  disapprove  of  it  in  modera- 
tion," said  Mrs.  Wilson. 

"That  depends,  madam,  upon  circumstances.  If  it  is  to 
be  made  subsidiary  to  envy,  malice,  coquetry,  vanity,  or 
any  other  such  little  lady-like  accomplishment,  it  certainly 
had  better  be  let  alone.  But  in  moderation,  and  with  the 
feelings  of  my  little  pet  here,  I  should  be  cynical,  indeed, 
to  object." 

Denbigh  appeared  lost  in  his  own  ruminations  during 
this  dialogue  ;.,and  as  the  doctor  ended,  he  turned  to  the 
captain,  who  was  overlooking  a  game  of  chess  between  the 
colonel  and  Jane  (of  which  the  latter  had  become  remark- 
ably fond  of  late,  playing  with  her  hands  and  eyes  instead 
of  her  feet),  and  inquired  the  "name  of  the  corps  in  bar- 
racks at  F . 

"  The  th  foot,  sir,"  replied  the  captain,  haughtily, 

who  neither  respected  him,  owing  to  his  want  of  conse- 
quence, nor  loved  him,  from  the  manner  in  which  Emily 
listened  to  his  conversation. 

"  Will  Miss  Moseley  forgive  a  bold  request  ? "  said  Den- 
bigh, with  some  hesitation. 

Emily  looked  up  from  her  work  in  silence,  but  with 
some  little  flutterings  at  the  heart. 

"The  honor  of  her  hand  for  the  first  dance,"  continued 
Denbigh,  observing  she  was  in  expectation  that  he  would 
proceed. 

Emily  laughingly  said,  "  Certainly,  Mr.  Denbigh,  if  you 
can  submit  to  the  degradation." 

The  London  papers  now  came  in,  and  most  of  the 
gentlemen  sat  down  to  their  perusal.  The  colonel,  how- 
ever, replaced  the  men  for  a  second  game,  and  Denbigh 
still  kept  his  place  beside  Mrs.  Wilson  and  her  niece.  The 
manners,  the  sentiments,  the  whole  exterior  of  this  gentle- 
man were  such  as  both  the  taste  and  judgment  of  the  aunt 
approved  of  ;  his  qualities  were  those  which  insensibly 
gained  on  the  heart ;  and  yet  Mrs.  Wilson  noticed,  with  a 
slight  uneasiness,  the  very  evident  satisfaction  her  niece 


66  PRECA  UTIOtf. 

took  in  his  society:  In  Doctor  Ives  she  had  great  confi- 
dence, yet  Doctor  Ives  was  a  friend,  and  probably  judged 
him  favorably ;  and  again,  Doctor  Ives  was  not  to  suppose 
he  was  introducing  a  candidate  for  the  hand  of  Emily  in 
every  gentleman  he  brought  to  the  Hall.  Mrs.  Wilson 
had  seen  too  often  the  ill  consequences  of  trusting  to  im- 
pressions received  from  inferences  of  companionship,  not 
to  know  the  only  safe  way  was  to  judge  for  ourselves. 
The  opinions  of  others  might  be  partial — might  be  preju- 
diced ;  and  many  an  improper  connection  had  been  formed 
by  listening  to  the  sentiments  of  those  who  spoke  without 
interest,  and  consequently  without  examination.  Not  a 
few  matches  are  made  by  this  idle  commendation  of  others, 
uttered  by  those  who  are  respected,  and  which  are  probably 
suggested  more  by  a  desire  to  please  than  by  reflection  or 
even  knowledge.  In  short,  Mrs.  Wilson  knew  that,  as  our 
happiness  chiefly  interests  ourselves,  so  it  was  to  ourselves, 
or  to  those  few  whose  interest  was  equal  t^  our  own,  we 
could  only  trust  those  important  inquiries  necessary  to 
establish  a  permanent  opinion  of  character.  With  Doctor 
Ives  her  communications  on  subjects  of  duty  were  frequent 
and  confiding  ;  and,  although  she  sometimes  thought  his 
benevolence  disposed  him  to  be  rather  too  lenient  to  the 
faults  of  mankind,  she  entertained  a  profound  respect  for 
his  judgment.  It  had  great  influence  with  her,  if  it  were 
not  always  conclusive.  She  determined,  therefpre,  to  have 
an  early  conversation  with  him  on  the  subject  so  near  her 
heart,  and  be  in  a  great  measure  regulated  by  his  answers 
in  the  steps  to  be  immediately  taken.  Every  day  gave  her 
what  she  thought  melancholy  proof  of  the  ill  consequences 
of  neglecting  a  duty,  in  the  increasing  intimacy  of  Colonel 
Egerton  and  Jane. 

"  Here,  aunt,"  cried  John,  as  he  ran  over  a  paper,  "  is  a 
paragraph  relating  to  your  favorite  youth,  our  trusty  and 
well-beloved  cousin,  the  Earl  of  Pendennyss." 

"  Read  it,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  an  interest  his  name 
never  failed  to  excite. 

"'We  noticed  to-day  the  equipage  of  the  gallant  Lord 
Pendennyss  before  the  gates  of  Annandale  house,  and  un- 
derstand the  noble  earl  is  last  from  Bolton  castle,  North- 
amptonshire.' " 

"  A  very  important  fact,"  said  Captain  Jarvis,  sarcasti- 
cally. "  Colonel  Egerton  and  myself  got  as  far  as  the  vil- 
lage, to  pay  our  respects  to  him,  when  we  heard  he  had 
gone  on  to  town." 


PRECA  UTION:  67 

"  The  earl's  character,  both  as  a  man  and  a  soldier,"  ob- 
served the  colonel,  "  gives  him  a  claim  to  our  attentions 
that  his  rank  would  not  ;  on  that  account  we  would  have 
called." 

"  Brother,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  "you  would  oblige  me 
greatly  by  asking  his  lordship  to  waive  ceremony.  His 
visits  to  Bolton  castle  will  probably  be  frequent,  now  we 
have  peace  ;  and  the  owner  is  so  much  from  home,  that  we 
may  never  see  him  without  some  such  invitation." 

"  Do  you  want  him  as  a  husband  for  Ernily  ? "  cried 
John,  as  he  gayly  seated  himself  by  the  side  of  his  sister. 

Mrs.  Wilson  smiled  at  an  observation  which  reminded 
her  of  one  of  her  romantic  wishes  ;  and,  as  she  raised  her 
head  to  reply  in  the  same  tone,  met  the  eye  of  Denbigh 
fixed  on  her  with  an  expression  that  kept  her  silent. 
"This  is  really  an  incomprehensible  young  man  in  some 
respects,"  thought  the  cautious  widow,  his  startling  looks 
on  the  introduction  to  the  colonel  crossing  her  mind  at 
the  same  time  ;  and,  observing  the  doctor  opening  the 
door  that  led  to  the  baronet's  library,  Mrs.  Wilson,  who 
generally  acted  as  soon  as  she  had  decided,  followed  him. 
As  their  conversations  were  known  often  to  relate  to  the 
little  offices  of  charity  in  which  they  both  delighted,  the 
movement  excited  no  surprise,  and  she  entered  the  library 
with  the  doctor  uninterrupted. 

"  Doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  impatient  to  proceed  to 
the  point,  "you  know  my  maxim,  'Prevention  is  better 
than  cure.'  This  young  friend  of  yours  is  very  interest- 
ing." 

"  Do  you  feel  yourself  in  danger  ? "  said  the  rector, 
smiling. 

"Not  very  imminent,"  replied  the  lady,  laughing  good- 
naturedly.  Seating  herself,  she  continued,  "  Who  is  he, 
and  who  was  his  father,  if  I  may  ask  ?" 

"  George  Denbigh,  madam,  both  father  and  son,"  said 
the  doctor,  gravely. 

"  Ah,  doctor,  I  am  almost  tempted  to  wish  Frank  had 
been  a  girl.  You  know  what  I  wish  to  learn." 

"Put  your  questions  in  order,  dear  madam,"  said  the 
the  doctor,  in  a  kind  manner,  "and  they  shall  be  an- 
swered." 

"  His  principles  ?  " 

"  So  far  as  I  can  learn,  they  are  good.  His  acts,  as  they 
have  come  to  my  notice,  are  highly  meritorious,  and  I  hope 
they  originated  in  proper  motives.  I  have  seen  but  little 


68  PRECA  UTION-. 

of  him  of  late  years,  however,  and  on  this  head  you  are 
nearly  as  good  a  judge  as  myself.  His  filial  piety,"  said 
the  doctor,  dashing  a  tear  from  his  eye,  and  speaking  with 
fervor,  "was  lovely." 

"  His  temper — his  disposition  ?" 

"His  temper  is  under  great  command,  although  natu- 
rally ardent ;  his  disposition  eminently  benevolent  toward 
his  fellow-creatures." 

"  His  connections  ?  " 

"  Suitable,"  said  the  doctor,  gravely. 

His  fortune  was  of  but  little  moment.  Emily  would  be 
amply  provided  for  all  the  customary  necessaries  of  her 
station  ;  and,  thanking  the  divine,  Mrs.  Wilson  returned 
to  the  parlor,  easy  in  mind,  and  determined  to  let  things 
take  their  own  course  for  a  time,  but  in  no  degree  to  relax 
the  vigilance  of  her  observation. 

On  her  return  to  the  room,  Mrs.  Wilson  observed  Den- 
bigh approach  Egerton,  and  enter  into  conversation  of  a 
general  nature.  It  was  the  first  time  anything  more  than 
unavoidable  courtesies  had  passed  between  them.  The 
colonel  appeared  slightly  uneasy  under  his  novel  situa- 
tion ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  his  companion  showed  an 
anxiety  to  be  on  a  more  friendly  footing  than  heretofore. 
There  was  something  mysterious  in  the  feelings  manifested 
by  both  these  gentlemen  that  greatly  puzzled  the  good 
lady ;  and,  from  its  complexion,  she  feared  one  or  the 
other  was  not  entirely  free  from  censure.  It  could  not 
have  been  a  quarrel,  or  their  names  would  have  been 
familiar  to  each  other.  They  had  both  served  in  Spain,  she 
knew,  and  excesses  were  often  committed  by  gentlemen 
at  a  distance  from  home  their  pride  would  have  prevented 
where  they  were  anxious  to  maintain  a  character.  Gam- 
bling, and  a  few  other  prominent  vices,  floated  through  her 
imagination,  until,  wearied  of  conjectures  where  she  had 
no  data,  and  supposing,  after  all,  it  might  be  only  her  im- 
agination, she  turned  to  more  pleasant  reflections. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

THE  bright  eyes  of  Emily  Moseley  unconsciously  wan- 
dered round  the  brilliant  assemblage  at  Mr.  Haughton's, 
as  she  took  her  seat,  in  search  of  her  partner.  The  rooms 
were  filled  with  scarlet  coats,  and  belles  from  the  little 


PRECA  UTIOtf.  69 

town  of  F ;  and  if  the  company  were  not  the  most 

select  imaginable,  it  was  disposed  to  enjoy  the  passing  mo- 
ment cheerfully  and  in  lightness  of  heart.  Ere,  however, 
she  could  make  out  to  scan  the  countenances  of  the  men, 
young  Jarvis,  decked  in  the  full  robes  of  his  dignity,  as 

captain  in  the  th  foot,  approached  and   solicited   the 

honor  of  her  hand.  The  colonel  had  already  secured  her 
sister,  and  it  was  by  the  instigation  of  his  friend  that  Jar- 
vis  had  been  thus  early  in  his  application.  Emily  thanked 
him,  and  pleaded  her  engagement.  The  mortified  youth, 
who  had  thought  dancing  with  the  ladies  a  favor  conferred 
on  them,  from  the  anxiety  his  sister  always  manifested  to 
get  partners,  stood  for  a  few  moments  in  sullen  silence ; 
and  then,  as  if  to  be  revenged  on  the  sex,  he  determined 
not  to  dance  the  whole  evening.  Accordingly,  he  with- 
drew to  a  room  appropriated  to  the  gentlemen,  where  he 
found  a  few  of  the  military  beaux,  keeping  alive  the  stim- 
ulus they  had  brought  with  them  from  the  mess-table. 

Clara  had  prudently  decided  to  comport  herself  as  be- 
came a  clergyman's  wife,  and  she  declined  dancing  alto- 
gether. Catherine  Chatterton  was  entitled  to  open  the 
ball,  as  superior  in  years  and  rank  to  any  who  were  dis- 
posed to  enjoy  the  amusement.  The  dowager,  who  in  her 
heart  loved  to  show  her  airs  upon  such  occasions,  had 
chosen  to  be  later  than  the  rest  of  the  family  ;  and  Lucy 
had  to  enTreat  her  father  to  have  patience  more  than  once 
during  the  interregnum  in  their  sports  created  by  Lady 
Chatterton's  fashion.  This  lady  at  length  appeared,  at- 
tended by  her  son,  and  followed  by  her  daughters,  orna- 
mented in  all  the  taste  of  the  reigning  fashions.  Doctor 
Ives  and  his  wife,  who  came  late  from  choice,  soon  ap- 
peared, accompanied  by  their  guests,  and  the  dancing 
commenced.  Denbigh  had  thrown  aside  his  black  for  the 
evening,  and  as  he  approached  to  claim  her  promised  hand, 
Emily  thought  him,  if  not  as  handsome,  much  more  inter- 
esting than  Colonel  Egerton,  who  just  then  passed  them 
while  leading  her  sister  to  the  set.  Emily  danced  beauti- 
fully, but  perfectly  like  a  lady,  as  did  Jane  ;  but  Denbigh, 
although  graceful  in  his  movements  and  in  time,  knew 
but  little  of  the  art ;  and  but  for  the  assistance  of  his  part- 
ner, he  would  have  more  than  once  gone  wrong  in  the 
figure.  He  very  gravely  asked  her  opinion  of  his  per- 
formance as  he  handed  her  to  a  chair,  and  she  laughingly 
told  him  his  movements  were  but  a  better  sort  of  march. 
He  was  about  to  reply,  when  Jarvis  approached.  By  the 


70  PRECA  UTION. 

aid  of  a  pint  of  wine  and  his  own  reflections,  the  youth 
wrought  himself  into  something  of  a  passion,  especially 
as  he  saw  Denbigh  enter,  after  Emily  had  declined  dancing 
with  himself.  There  was  a  gentleman  in  the  corps  who 
unfortunately  was  addicted  to  the  bottle,  and  he  had  fast- 
ened on  Jarvis,  as  a  man  at  leisure,  to  keep  him  company. 
Wine  openeth  the  heart ;  and  the  captain,  having  taken  a 
peep  at  the  dancers,  and  seen  the  disposition  of  affairs,  re- 
turned to  his  bottle-companion  bursting  with  the  indignity 
offered  to  his  person.  He  dropped  a  hint,  and  a  question 
or  two  brought  the  whole  grievance  forth. 

There  is  a  certain  set  of  men  in  every  service  who  im- 
bibe extravagant  notions  that  are  revolting  to  humanity, 
and  which  too  often  prove  to  be  fatal  in  their  results. 
Their  morals  are  never  correct,  and  the  little  they  have 
set  loosely  about  them.  In  their  own  cases,  their  appeals 
to  arms  are  not  always  so  prompt ;  but  in  that  of  their 
friends,  their  perceptions  of  honor  are  intuitively  keen,  and 
their  inflexibility  in  preserving  it  from  reproach  unbend- 
ing ;  and  such  is  the  weakness  of  mankind — their  tender- 
ness on  points  where  the  nicer  feelings  of  a  soldier  are  in- 
volved— that  these  machines  of  custom,  these  thermome- 
ters graduated  to  the  scale  of  false  honor,  usurp  the  place 
of  reason  and  benevolence,  and  become  too  often  the  arbi- 
ters of  life  and  death  to  a  whole  corps.  Such,  then,  was 
the  confidant  to  whom  Jarvis  communicated  th"e~  cause  of 
his  disgust,  and  the  consequences  may  easily  be  imagined. 
As  he  passed  Emily  and  Denbigh,  he  threw  a  look  of  fierce- 
ness at  the  latter,  which  he  meant  as  an  indication  of  his 
hostile  intentions.  It  was  lost  on  his  rival,  who  at  that 
moment  was  filled  with  passions  of  a  very  different  kind 
from  those  which  Captain  Jarvis  thought  agitated  his  own 
bosom  ;  for  had  his  new  friend  left  him  alone,  the  captain 
would  have  gone  quietly  home,  and  gone  to  sleep. 

"  Have  you  ever  fought  ?"  said  Captain  Digby,  coolly, 
to  his  companion,  as  they  seated  themselves  in  his  father's 
parlor,  whither  they  had  retired  to  make  their  arrange- 
ments for  the  following  morning. 

"Yes,"  said  Jarvis,  with  a  stupid  look,  "  I  fought  once 
with  Tom  Halliday,  at  school." 

"  At  school !  My  dear  friend,  you  commenced  young 
indeed,"  said  Digby,  helping  himself  to  another  glass. 
"And  how  did  it  end  ?" 

"Oh!  Tom  got  the  better,  arid  so  I  cried,  enough,"  said 
Jarvis,  surlily. 


PRECAUTION.  71 

"  Enough !  I  hope  you  did  not  flinch,"  eyeing  him 
keenly.  "  Where  were  you  hit  ?  " 

"  He  hit  me  all  over." 

"  All  over  !  The  d — 1  !  Did  you  use  small  shot  ?  How 
did  you  fight  ?" 

"With  fists,"  said  Jarvis,  yawning. 

His  companion,  seeing  how  matters  were,  rang  for  his 
servant  to  put  him  to  bed,  remaining  himself  an  hour 
longer  to  finish  the  bottle. 

Soon  after  Jarvis  had  given  Denbigh  the  look  big  with 
his  intended  vengeance,  Colonel  Egerton  approached  Em- 
ily, asking  permission  to  present  Sir  Herbert  Nicholson, 
the  lieutenant-colonel  of  the  regiment,  and  a  gentleman 
who  was  ambitious  of  the  honor  of  her  acquaintance  ;  a 
particular  friend  of  his  own.  Emily  gracefully  bowed  her 
assent.  Soon  after,  turning  her  eyes  on  Denbigh,  who  had 
been  speaking  to  her  at  the  moment,  she  saw  him  looking 
intently  on  the  two  soldiers,  who  were  making  their  way 
through  the  crowd  to  the  place  where  she  sat.  He  stam- 
mered, said  something  she  could  not  understand,  and  pre- 
cipitately withdrew  ;'and,  although  both  she  and  her  aunt 
sought  his  figure  in  the  gay  throng  that  flitted  around 
them,  he  was  seen  no  more  that  evening. 

"  Are  you  acquainted  with  Mr.  Denbigh  ?"  said  Emily  to 
her  partner,  after  looking  in  vain  to  find  his  person  in  the 
crowd. 

"  Denbigh  !  Denbigh  !  I  have  known  one  or  two  of  that 
name,"  replied  the  gentleman.  "  In  the  army  there  are 
several." 

"  Yes,"  said  Emily,  musing,  "  he  is  in  the  army ; "  and, 
looking  up,  she  saw  her  companion  reading  her  counte- 
nance with  an  expression  that  brought  the  color  to  her 
cheeks  with  a  glow  that  was  painful.  Sir  Herbert  smiled, 
and  observed  that  the  room  was  warm.  Emily  acquiesced 
in  the  remark,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  conscious  of  a 
feeling  she  was  ashamed  to  have  scrutinized,  and  glad  of 
any  excuse  to  hide  her  confusion. 

"  Grace  Chatterton  is  really  beautiful  to-night,"  whis- 
pered John  Moseley  to  his  sister  Clara.  "  I  have  a  mind  to 
ask  her  to  dance." 

"  Do,  John,"  replied  his  sister,  looking  with  pleasure  on 
her  beautiful  cousin,  who,  observing  the  movements  of  John 
as  he  drew  near  where  she  sat,  moved  her  face  on  each 
side  rapidly,  in  search  of  some  one  who  was  apparently 
not  to  be  found.  Her  breathing  became  sensibly  quicker, 


72  PR  EC  A  UT1ON*. 

and  John  was  on  the  point  of  speaking  to  her  as  the  dow- 
ager stepped  in  between  them.  There  is  nothing  so  flat- 
tering to  the  vanity  of  a  man  as  the  discovery  of  emotions 
in  a  young  woman  excited  by  himself,  and  which  the  party 
evidently  wishes  to  conceal  ;  there  is  nothing  so  touching, 
so  sure  to  captivate  ;  or,  if  it  seem  to  be  affected,  so  sure  to 
disgust. 

"Now,  Mr.  Moseley,"  cried  the  mother,  "you  shall  not 
ask  Grace  to  dance  !  She  can  refuse  you  nothing,  and  she 
has  been  up  the  last  two  figures." 

"Your  wishes  are  irresistible,  Lady  Chatterton,"  said 
John,  coolly  turning  on  his  heel.  On  gaining  the  other 
side  of  the  room,  he  turned  to  reconnoitre  the  scene.  The 
dowager  was  fanning  herself  as  violently  as  if  she  had  been 
up  the  last  two  figures,  instead  of  her  daughter;  while 
Grace  sat  with  her  eyes  fastened  on  the  floor,  paler  than 
usual.  "Grace,"  thought  the  young  man,  "would  be  very 
handsome — very  sweet — very — very  everything  that  is 
agreeable,  if — if  it  were  not  for  Mother  Chatterton."  He 
then  led  out  one  of  the  prettiest  girls  in  the  room. 

Colonel  Egerton  was  peculiarly  fitted  to  shine  in  a  ball- 
room. He  danced  gracefully  and  with  spirit ;  was  perfectly 
at  home  with  all  the  usages  of  the  best  society,  and  was 
never  neglectful  of  any  of  those  little  courtesies  which 
have  their  charm  for  the  moment  ;  and  Jane  Moseley,  who 
saw  all  those  she  loved  around  her,  apparently  as  happy  as 
herself,  found  in  her  judgment  or  the  convictions  of  her 
principles  no  counterpoise  against  the  weight  of  such  at- 
tractions, all  centred  as  it  were  in  one  effort  to  please  her- 
self. His  flattery  was  deep,  for  it  was  respectful ;  his  tastes 
were  her  tastes — his  opinions  her  opinions.  On  the  for- 
mation of  their  acquaintance  they  differed  on  some  trifling 
point  of  poetical  criticism,  and  for  nearly  a  month  the 
colonel  had  maintained  his  opinion  with  a  show  of  firmness ; 
but  opportunities  not  wanting  for  the  discussion,  he  had 
felt  constrained  to  yield  to  her  better  judgment,  her  purer 
taste.  The  conquest  of  Colonel  Egerton  was  complete  ; 
and  Jane,  who  saw  in  his  attentions  the  submission  of  a 
devoted  heart,  began  to  look  forward  to  the  moment  with 
trembling  that  was  to  remove  the  thin  barrier  that  existed 
between  the  adulation  of  the  eyes  and  the  most  delicate 
assiduity  to  please,  and  the  open  confidence  of  declared 
love.  Jane  Moseley  had  a  heart  to  love,  and  to  love 
strongly  ;  her  danger  existed  in  her  imagination  :  it  was 
brilliant,  unchastened  by  her  judgment — we  had  almost 


PRECA  UTION-.  73 

said  unfettered  by  her  principles.  Principles  such  as  are 
found  in  every-day  maxims  and  rules  of  conduct  sufficient 
to  restrain  her  within  the  bounds  of  perfect  decorum  she 
was  furnished  with  in  abundance  ;  but  to  that  principle 
which  was  to  teach  her  submission  in  opposition  to  her 
wishes — to  that  principle  that  could  alone  afford  her  se- 
curity against  the  treachery  of  her  own  passions — she  was 
an  utter  stranger. 

The  family  of  Sir  Edward  were  among  the  first  to  retire  ; 
and  as  the  Chattertons  had  their  own  carriage,  Mrs.  Wil- 
son and  her  charge  returned  alone  in  the  coach  of  the  for- 
mer. Emily,  who  had  been  rather  out  of  spirits  the  latter 
part  of  the  evening,  broke  the  silence  by  suddenly  observ- 
ing— 

"  Colonel  Egerton  is,  or  soon  will  be,  a  perfect  hero !  " 
Her  aunt,  somewhat  surprised,  both  with  the  abruptness 
and  with  the  strength  of  the  remark,  inquired  her  mean- 
ing. 

"  Oh,  Jane  will  make  him  one,  whether  or  not." 
This  was  spoken  with  an  air  of  vexation  which  she  was 
unused  to,  and  Mrs.  Wilson  gravely  corrected  her  for 
speaking  in  a  disrespectful  manner  of  her  sister — one  whom 
neither  her  years  nor  situation  entitled  her  in  any  measure 
to  advise  or  control.  There  was  an  impropriety  in  judg- 
ing so  near  and  dear  a  relation  harshly,  even  in  thought. 
Emily  pressed  the  hand  of  her  aunt,  and  tremulously 
acknowledged  her  error;  but  she  addecfc  that  she  felt  a 
momentary  irritation  at  the  idea  of  a  man  of  Colonel  Eger- 
ton's  character  gaining  the  command  over  feelings  such  as 
her  sister  possessed.  Mrs.  Wilson  kissed  the  cheek  of  her 
niece,  while  she  inwardly  acknowledged  the  probable  truth 
of  the  very  remark  she  had  thought  it  her  duty  to  censure. 
That  the  imagination  of  Jane  would  supply  her  lover  with 
those  qualities  she  most  honored  herself,  she  believed  was 
taken  as  a  matter  of  course ;  and  that  when  the  veil  she 
had  helped  to  throw  before  her  own  eyes  was  removed,  she 
would  cease  to  respect,  and  of  course  cease  to  love  him, 
when  too  late  to  remedy  the  evil,  she  greatly  feared.  But 
in  the  approaching  fate  of  Jane  she  saw  new  cause  to  call 
forth  her  own  activity. 

Emily  Moseley  had  just  completed  her  eighteenth  year, 
and  was  gifted  by  nature  with  a  vivacity  and  ardency  of 
feeling  that  gave  a  heightened  zest  to  the  enjoyments  of 
that  happy  age.  She  was  artless,  but  intelligent ;  cheer- 
ful, with  a  deep  conviction  of  the  necessity  of  piety  ;  and 


74  PR  EC  A  UTION-. 

uniform  in  her  practice  of  all  the  important  duties.  The 
unwearied  exertions  of  her  aunt,  aided  by  her  own  quick- 
ness of  perception,  had  made  her  familiar  with  the  attain- 
ments suitable  to  her  sex  and  years.  For  music  she  had 
no  taste  ;  and  the  time  which  would  have  been  thrown 
away  in  endeavoring  to  cultivate  a  talent  she  did  not  pos- 
sess, was  dedicated,  under  the  discreet  guidance  of  her  aunt, 
to  works  which  had  a  tendency  both  to  qualify  her  for  the 
duties  of  this  life,  and  fit  her  for  that  which  comes  here- 
after. It  might  be  said  Emily  Moseley  had  never  read  a 
book  that  contained  a  sentiment  or  inculcated  an  opinion 
improper  for  her  sex  or  dangerous  to  her  morals  ;  and  it 
was  not  difficult  for  those  who  knew  the  fact,  to  fancy  they 
could  perceive  the  consequences  in  her  guileless  counte- 
nance and  innocent  deportment.  Her  looks,  her  actions, 
her  thoughts,  wore  as  much  of  nature  as  the  discipline  of 
her  well-regula^d  mind  and  softened  manners  could  ad- 
mit. In  person  jhe  was  of  the  middle  size,  exquisitely 
formed,  graceful  and  elastic  in  her  step — without,  however, 
the  least  departure  from  her  natural  movements ;  her  eye 
was  a  dark  blue,  with  an  expression  of  joy  and  intelligence  : 
at  times  it  seemed  all  soul,  and  again  all  heart  ;  her  color 
was  rather  high,  but  it  varied  with  every  emotion  of  her 
bosom  ;  her  feelings  were  strong,  ardent,  and  devoted  to 
those  she  loved.  Her  preceptress  had  never  found  it  nec- 
essary to  repeat  an  admonition  of  any  kind,  since  her  ar- 
rival at  years  to  Discriminate  between  the  right  and  the 
wrong. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Doctor  Ives  to  his  wife,  the  evening  his 
son  had  asked  their  permission  to  address  Clara,  "  Francis 
had  chosen  my  little  Emily." 

"Clara  is  a  good  girl,"  replied  his  wife.  "She  is  so 
mild,  so  affectionate,  that  I  doubt  not  she  will  make  him 
happy.  Frank  might  have  done  worse  at  the  Hall." 

'*  For  himself  he  has  done  well,  I  hope,"  said  the  father; 
"  a  young  woman  of  Clara's  heart  may  make  any  man 
happy :  but  a  union  with  purity,  sense,  principles,  like 
those  of  Emily,  would  be  more — it  would  be  blissful." 

Mrs.  Ives  smiled  at  her  husband's  animation.  "  You  re- 
mind me  more  of  the  romantic  youth  I  once  knew  than  of 
the  grave  divine.  There  is  but  one  man  I  know  that  I  could 
wish  to  give  Emily  to  :  it  is  Lumley.  If  Lumley  sees  her, 
he  will  woo  her  ;  and  if  he  woos,  he  will  win  her." 

"  And  Lumley  I  believe  to  be  worthy  of  her,"  cried  the 
rector,  now  taking  up  a  candle  to  retire  for  the  night. 


PRECA  UTION.  75 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE  following  day  brought  a  large  party  of  the  military 
elegants  to  the  Hall,  in  acceptance  of  the  baronet's  hospitable 
invitation,  to  dinner.  Lady  Moseley  was  delighted  ;  so  long 
as  her  husband's  or  her  children's  interest  had  demanded 
a  sacrifice  of  her  love  of  society  it  had  been  made  without 
a  sigh,  almost  without  a  thought.  The  ties  of  affinity  in 
her  were  sacred  ;  and  to  the  happiness,  the  comfort  of  those 
in  which  she  felt  an  interest,  there  were  few  sacrifices  of 
her  own  propensities  she  would  not  cheerfully  have  made: 
it  was  this  very  love  of  hei;  offspring  that  made  her  anx- 
ious to  dispose  of  her  daughters  in  wredlock.  Her  own 
marriage  had  been  so  happy,  that  she  naturally  concluded 
it  the  state  most  likely  to  insure  the  happiness  of  her  chil- 
dren ;  and  with  Lady  Moseiey,  as  with  thousands  of  others 
who,  averse,  or  unequal  to  the  labors  of  investigation, 
jump  to  conclusions  over  the  long  line  of  connecting  rea- 
sons, marriage  was  marriage,  a  husband  was  a  husband. 
It  is  true  there  were  certain  indispensables,  without  which 
the  formation  of  a  connection  was  a  thing  she  considered 
not  within  the  bounds  of  nature.  There  must  be  fitness  in 
fortune,  in  condition,  in  education,  and  manners  ;  there 
must  be  no  glaring  evil,  although  she  did  not  ask  for  posi- 
tive good.  A  professor  of  religion  herself,  had  any  one 
told  her  it  was  a  duty  of  her  calling  to  guard  against  a 
connection  with  any  but  a  Christian  for  her  girls,  she 
would  have  wondered  at  the  ignorance  that  would  embar- 
rass the  marriage  state  with  feelings  exclusively  belonging 
to  the  individual.  Had  any  one  told  her  it  were  possible 
to  give  her  child  to  any  but  a  gentleman,  she  would  have 
wondered  at  the  want  of  feeling  that  could  devote  the 
softness  of  Jane  or  Emily  to  the  association  with  rude- 
ness or  vulgarity.  It  was  the  misfortune  of  Lady  Moseley 
to  limit  her  views  of  marriage  to  the  scene  of  this  life,  for- 
getful that  every  union  gives  existence  to  a  long  line  of 
immortal  beings,  whose  future  welfare  depends  greatly  on 
the  force  of  early  examples,  or  the  strength  of  early  im- 
pressions. 

The  necessity  for  restriction  in  their  expenditures  had 
ceased,  and  the  baronet  and  his  wife  greatly  enjoyed  the 
first  opportunity  their  secluded  situation  had  given  them, 
to  draw  around  their  board  their  fellow-creatures  of  their 


76  PRECAUTION. 

own  stamp.  In  the  former,  it  was  pure  philanthropy  ;  the 
same  feeling  urged  him  to  seek  out  and  relieve  distress  in 
humble  life  ;  while  in  the  latter  it  was  love  of  station  and 
seemliness.  It  was  becoming  the  owner  of  Moseley  Hall, 
and  it  was  what  the  daughters  of  the  Benfield  family  had 
done  since  the  Conquest. 

"I  am  extremely  sorry,"  said  the  good  baronet  at  din- 
ner, "  Mr.  Denbigh  declined  our  invitation  to-day  ;  I  hope 
he  will  yet  ride  over  in  the  evening." 

Looks  of  a  singular  import  were  exchanged  between 
Colonel  Egerton  and  Sir  Herbert  Nicholson,  at  the  men- 
tion of  Denbigh's  name  ;  which,  as  the  latter  had  just 
asked  the  favor  of  taking  wine  with  Mrs.  Wilson,  did  not 
escape  her  notice.  Emily  had  innocently  mentioned  his 
precipitate  retreat  the  night  before  ;  and  he  had,  when  re- 
minded of  his  engagement  to  dine  with  them  that  very 
day,  and  promised  an  introduction  to  Sir  Herbert  Nichol- 
son by  John,  in  her  presence,  suddenly  excused  himself  and 
withdrew.  With  an  indefinite  suspicion  of  something  wrong, 
she  ventured,  therefore,  to  address  Sir  Herbert  Nicholson. 

"  Did  you  know  Mr.  Denbigh  in  Spain  ?" 

"  I  told  Miss  Emily  Moseley,  I  believe,  last  evening,  that 
I  knew  some  of  the  name,"  replied  the  gentleman  eva- 
sively ;  then  pausing  a  moment  he  added  with  great  em- 
phasis, "  there  is  a  circumstance  connected  with  one  of 
that  name,  I  shall  ever  remember." 

"  It  was  creditable,  no  doubt,  Sir  Herbert,"  cried  young 
Jarvis,  sarcastically.  The  soldier  affected  not  to  hear  the 
question,  and  asked  Jane  to  take  wine  with  him.  Lord 
Chatterton,  however,  putting  his  knife  and  fork  down 
gravely,  and  with  a  glow  of  animation,  observed  with  un- 
usual spirit — 

"  I  have  no  doubt  it  was,  sir." 

Jarvis,  in  his  turn,  affected  not  to  hear  this  speech,  and 
nothing  further  was  said,  as  Sir  Edward  saw  that  the  name 
of  Mr.  Denbigh  excited  a  sensation  among  his  guests  for 
which  he  was  unable  to  account,  and  which  he  soon  for- 
got himself. 

After  the  company  had  retired,  Lord  Chatterton,  how- 
ever, related  to  the  astonished  and  indignant  family  of  the 
baronet,  the  substance  of  the  following  scene,  of  which  he 
had  been  a  witness  that  morning,  while  on  a  visit  to  Den- 
bigh at  the  rectory.  They  had  been  sitting  in  the  parlor 
by  themselves,  over  their  breakfast,  when  a  Captain  Digby 
was  announced. 


PRECAUTION.  ft 

11 1  have  the  honor  of  waiting  upon  you,  Mr.  Denbigh," 
said  the  soldier,  with  the  stiff  formality  of  a  professed 
duellist,  "  on  behalf  of  Captain  Jarvis,  but  will  postpone 
my  business  until  you  are  at  leisure,"  glancing  his  eye  on 
Chatterton. 

"  I  know  of  no  business  with  Captain  Jarvis,"  said  Den- 
bigh, politely  handing  the  stranger  a  chair,  "  to  which 
Lord  Chatterton  cannot  be  privy  ;  if  he  will  excuse  the  in- 
terruption." The  nobleman  bowed,  and  Captain  Digby,  a 
little  awed  by  the  rank  of  Denbigh's  friend,  proceeded  in 
a  more  measured  manner. 

"Captain  Jarvis  has  empowered  me,  sir,  to  make  any 
arrangement  with  yourself  or  friend,  previously  to  your 
meeting,  which  he  hopes  may  be  as  soon  as  possible,  if 
convenient  to  yourself,"  replied  the  soldier,  coolly. 

Denbigh  viewed  him  for  a  moment  with  astonishment, 
in  silence  ;  when  recollecting  himself,  he  said  mildly,  and 
without  the  least  agitation,  "  I  cannot  affect,  sir,  not  to  un- 
derstand your  meaning,  but  am  at  a  loss  to  imagine  what 
act  of  mine  can  have  made  Mr.  Jarvis  wish  to  make  such 
an  appeal." 

"  Surely  Mr.  Denbigh  cannot  think  a  man  of  Captain 
Jarvis's  spirit  can  quietly  submit  to  the  indignity  put  upon 
him  last  evening,  by  your  dancing  with  Miss  Moseley,  after 
she  had  declined  the  honor  to  himself,"  said  the  captain, 
affecting  an  incredulous  smile.  "  My  Lord  Chatterton  and 
myself  can  easily  settle  the  preliminaries,  as  Captain  Jar- 
vis  is  much  disposed  to  consult  your  wishes,  sir,  in  this 
affair." 

"  If  he  consults  my  wishes,"  said  Denbigh,  smiling,  "  he 
will  think  no  more  about  it." 

"  At  what  time,  sir,  will  it  be  convenient  to  give  him  the 
meeting  ?  "  Then,  speaking  with  a  kind  of  bravado  gentle- 
men of  his  cast  are  fond  of  assuming,  "  my  friend  would 
not  hurry  any  settlement  of  your  affairs." 

"  I  can  never  meet  Captain  Jarvis  with  hostile  inten- 
tions," replied  Denbigh,  calmly. 

"Sir!" 

"  I  decline  the  combat,  sir,"  said  Denbigh,  with  more 
firmness. 

"  Your  reasons,  sir,  if  you  please  ?"  asked  Captain  Dig- 
by,  compressing  his  lips,  and  drawing  up  with  an  air  of 
personal  interest. 

"  Surely,"  cried  Chatterton,  who  had  with  difficulty  re 
strained  his  feelings,  "  surely  Mr.  Denbigh  could  n^ver  f 


^8  PRECA  UTION. 

far  forget  himself  as  cruelly  to  expose  Miss  Moseley  by 
accepting  this  invitation." 

"Your  reason,  my  lord,"  said  Denbigh,  with  interest, 
"would  at  all  times  have  its  weight  ;  but  I  wish  not  to 
qualify  an  act  of  what  I  conceive  to  be  principle  by  any 
lesser  consideration.  I  cannot  meet  Captain  Jarvis,  or  any 
other  man,  in  private  combat.  There  can  exist  no  neces- 
sity for  an  appeal  to  arms  in  any  society  where  the  laws 
rule,  and  I  am  averse  to  bloodshed." 

"Very  extraordinary,"  muttered  Captain  Digby,  some- 
what at  a  loss  how  to  act ;  but  the  calm  and  collected  man- 
ner of  Denbigh  prevented  a  reply  ;  and  after  declining  a 
cup  of  tea,  a  liquor  he  never  drank,  he  withdrew,  saying 
he  would  acquaint  his  friend  with  Mr.  Denbigh's  singular 
notions. 

Captain  Digby  had  left  Jarvis  at  an  inn,  about  half  a 
mile  from  the  rectory,  for  the  convenience  of  receiving 
early  information  of  the  result  of  his  conference.  The 
young  man  had  walked  up  and  down  the  room  during  Dig- 
by's  absence,  in  a  train  of  reflections  entirely  new  to  him. 
He  was  the  only  son  of  his  aged  father  and  mother,  the 
protector  of  his  sisters,  and,  he  might  say,  the  sole  hope 
of  a  rising  family  ;  and  then,  possibly,  Denbigh  might  not 
have  meant  to  offend  him — he  might  even  have  been  en- 
gaged before  they  came  to  the  house  ;  or  if  not,  it  might 
have  been  inadvertence  on  the  part  of  Miss  Moseley. 
That  Denbigh  would  offer  some  explanation  he  believed, 
and  he  had  fully  made  up  his  mind  to  accept  it,  let  it  be 
what  it  might,  as  his  fighting  friend  entered. 

"  Well,"  said  Jarvis,  in  a  tone  that  denoted  anything  but 
a  consciousness  that  all  was  well. 

"  He  says  he  will  not  meet  you,"  dryly  exclaimed  his 
friend,  throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  and  ordering  a  glass 
of  brandy  and  water. 

"Not  meet  me  !"  exclaimed  Jarvis,  in  surprise.  "En- 
gaged, perhaps  ? " 

"  Engaged  to  his  d — d  conscience." 

"To  his  conscience!  I  do  not  know  whether  I  rightly 
understand  you,  Captain  Digby,"  said  Jarvis,  catching  his 
breath,  and  raising  his  voice  a  very  little. 

"  Then,  Captain  Jarvis,"  said  his  friend,  tossing  off  his 
brandy,  and  speaking  with  great  deliberation,  "  he  says 
that  nothing — understand  me — nothing  will  ever  make  him 
fight  a  duel." 

"  He  will  not  ? "  cried  Jarvis,  in  a  loud  voice. 


PRECA  UTION-.  79 

"  No,  he  will  not,"  said  Digby,  handing  his  glass  to  the 
waiter  for  a  fresh  supply. 

"  He  shall,  by— 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  will  make  him." 

"  Make  him  !     I'll— I'll  post  him." 

"  Never  do  that,"  said  the  captain,  turning  to  him  as  he 
leaned  his  elbows  on  the  table.  "  It  only  makes  both  par- 
ties ridiculous.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  you  may  do.  There's 
a  Lord  Chatterton  who  takes  the  matter  up  with  warmth. 
If  I  were  not  afraid  of  his  interests  hurting  my  promo- 
tion, I  should  have  resented  something  that  fell  from  him 
myself.  He  will  fight,  I  dare  say,  and  I'll  just  return  and 
require  an  explanation  of  his  words  on  your  behalf." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Jarvis,  rather  hastily  ;  "  he — he  is  related 
to  the  Moseleys,  and  I  have  views  there  it  might  injure." 

"Did  you  think  to  forward  your  views  by  making  the 
young  lady  the  subject  of  a  duel  ?"  asked  Captain  Digby, 
sarcastically,  and  eying  his  companion  with  contempt. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Jarvis  ;  "  it  would  certainly  hurt  my 
views." 

"  Here's  to  the  health  of  his  Majesty'  gallant  -  -  regi- 
ment of  foot ! "  cried  Captain  Digby,  in  a  tone  of  irony, 
when  three-quarters  drunk,  at  the  mess-table,  that  even- 
ing, "and  to  its  champion,  Captain  Henry  Jarvis  !" 

One  of  the  corps  was  present  accidentally  as  a  guest;  and 
the  following  week,  the  inhabitants  of  F—  —  saw  the  regi- 
ment in  their  barracks  marching  to  slow  time  after  the 
body  of  Horace  Digby. 

Lord  Chatterton,  in  relating  the  part  of  the  foregoing 
circumstances  which  fell  under  his  observation,  did  ample 
justice  to  the  conduct  of  Denbigh  ;  a  degree  of  liberality 
which  did  him  no  little  credit,  as  he  plainly  saw  in  that 
gentleman  he  had,  or  soon  would  have,  a  rival  in  the  dear- 
est wish  of  his  heart ;  and  the  smiling  approbation  with 
which  his  cousin  Emily  rewarded  him  for  his  candor  al- 
most sickened  him  with  apprehension.  The  ladies  were 
not  slow  in  expressing  their  disgust  at  the  conduct  of  Jar- 
vis,  or  backward  in  their  approval  of  Denbigh's  forbear- 
ance. Lady  Moseley  turned  with  horror  from  a  picture 
in  which  she  could  see  nothing  but  murder  and  blood- 
shed ;  but  both  Mrs.  Wilson  and  her  niece  secretly  ap- 
plauded a  sacrifice  of  worldly  feelings  on  the  altar  of  duty; 
the  former  admiring  the  consistent  refusal  of  admitting 
any  collateral  inducements  in  explanation  of  his  decis- 
ion ;  the  latter,  while  she  saw  the  act  in  its  true  colors, 


So  PRECA  UTION. 

could  hardly  help  believing  that  a  regard  for  her  feelings 
had,  in  a  trifling  degree,  its  influence  in  inducing  him  to 
decline  the  meeting.  Mrs.  Wilson  saw  at  once  what  a  hold 
such  unusual  conduct  would!  take  on  the  feelings  of  her 
niece,  and  inwardly  determined  to  increase,  if  possible, 
the  watchfulness  she  had  invariably  observed  on  all  he 
said  or  did,  as  likely  to  elucidate  his  real  character,  well 
knowing  that  the  requisites  to  bring  or  to  keep  happiness 
in  the  married  state  were  numerous  and  indispensable  ;  and 
that  the  display  of  a  particular  excellence,  however  good 
in  itself,  was  by  no  means  conclusive  as  to  character  ;  in 
short,  that  we  perhaps  as  often  meet  with  a  favorite  prin- 
ciple as  with  a  besetting  sin. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SIR  EDWARD  MOSELEY  had  some  difficulty  in  restraining 
the  impetuosity  of  his  son,  who  was  disposed  to  resent  this 
impertinent  interference  of  young  Jarvis  with  the  conduct 
of  his  favorite  sister ;  indeed,  the  young  man  only  yielded 
to  his  profound  respect  to  his  father's  commands,  aided  by 
a  strong  representation  on  the  part  of  his  sister  of  the  dis- 
agreeable consequences  of  connecting  her  name  with  such 
a  quarrel.  It  was  seldom  the  good  baronet  felt  himself 
called  on  to  act  as  decidedly  as  on  the  present  occasion. 
He  spoke  to  the  merchant  in  warm,  but  gentlemanlike 
terms,  of  the  consequences  which  might  have  resulted  to 
his  own  child  from  the  intemperate  act  of  his  son  ;  excul- 
pated Emily  entirely  from  censure,  by  explaining  her  en- 
gagement to  dance  with  Denbigh,  previously  to  Captain 
Jarvis's  application  ;  and  hinted  the  necessity,  if  the  affair 
was  not  amicably  terminated,  of  protecting  the  peace  of 
mind  of  his  daughters  against  any  similar  exposure,  by  de- 
clining the  acquaintance  of  a  neighbor  he  respected  as 
much  as  Mr.  Jarvis. 

The  merchant  was  a  man  of  few  words,  but  of  great 
promptitude.  He  had  made  his  fortune,  and  more  than 
once  saved  it,  by  his  decision  ;  and  assuring  the  baronet  he 
should  hear  no  more  of  it,  he  took  his  hat  and  hurried 
home  from  the  village  where  the  conversation  passed.  On 
arriving  at  his  own  house,  he  found  the  family  collected  in 
the  parlor  for  a  morning  ride,  and  throwing  himself  into  a 
chair,  he  broke  out  on  the  whole  party  with  great  violence. 


PRECA  UTJOJV.  8l 

"So,  Mrs.  Jarvis,"  he  cried,  "you  would  spoil  a  very  tol- 
erable book-keeper,  by  wishing  to  have  a  soldier  in  your 
family  ;  and  there  stands  the  puppy  who  would  have  blown 
out  the  brains  of  a  deserving  young  man,  if  the  good  sense 
of  Mr.  Denbigh  had  not  denied  him  the  opportunity." 

"  Mercy  !  "  cried  the  alarmed  matron,  on  whom  Newgate 
(for  her  early  life  had  been  passed  near  its  walls),  with  all 
its  horrors,  floated,  and  a  contemplation  of  its  punishments 
had  been  her  juvenile  lessons  of  morality — "  Harry  !  Har- 
ry !  would  you  commit  murder?" 

"  Murder  !  "  echoed  her  son,  looking  askance,  as  if  dodg- 
ing the  bailiffs.  "No,  mother;  I  wanted  nothing  but 
what  was  fair.  Mr.  Denbigh  would  have  had  an  equal 
chance  to  blow  out  my  brains  ;  I  am  sure  everything 
would  have  been  fair." 

"  Equal  chance  !  "  muttered  his  father,  who  had  cooled 
himself,  in  some  measure,  by  an  extra  pinch  of  snuff  ;  "  no, 
sir ;  you  have  no  brains  to  lose.  But  I  have  promised  Sir 
Edward  that  you  shall  make  proper  apologies  to  himself, 
to  his  daughter,  and  to  Mr.  Denbigh."  This  was  rather 
exceeding  the  truth,  but  the  alderman  prided  himself  on 
performing  rather  more  than  he  promised. 

"  Apology  !  "  exclaimed  the  captain.  "  Why,  sir,  the 
apology  is  due  to  me.  Ask  Colonel  Egerton  if  he  ever 
heard  of  apologies  being  made  by  the  challenger." 

"No,  sure,"  said  the  mother,  who,  having  made  out  the 
truth  of  the  matter,  thought  it  was  likely  enough  to  be 
creditable  to  her  child  ;  "  Colonel  Egerton  never  heard  of 
such  a  thing.  Did  you,  colonel  ? " 

"Why,  madam,"  said  the  colonel,  hesitatingly,  and  po- 
litely handing  the  merchant  his  snuff-box,  which,  in  his 
agitation,  had  fallen  on  the  floor,  "circumstances  some- 
times justify  a  departure  from  ordinary  measures.  You 
are  certainly  right,  as  a  rule  ;  but  not  knowing  the  par- 
ticulars in  the  present  case,  it  is  difficult  for  me  to  decide. 
Miss  Jarvis,  the  tilbury  is  ready." 

The  colonel  bowed  respectfully  to  the  merchant,  kissed 
his  hand  to  his  wife,  and  led  their  daughter  to  his  car- 
riage. 

"  Do  you  make  the  apologies  ?"  asked  Mr.  Jarvis.  as  the 
door  closed. 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  the  captain,  sullenly. 

"Then  you  must  make  your  pay  answer  for  the  next  six 

months,"  cried  the  father,   taking  a  signed    draft  on  his 

banker   from  his   pocket,  coolly  tearing  it  in  two 

6 


S2  PRECA  UTION. 

carefully  putting  the  name  in  his  mouth,  and  chewing  it 
into  a  ball. 

"Why,  alderman,"  said  his  wife  (a  name  she  never  used 
unless  she  had  something  to  gain  from  her  spouse,  who 
loved  to  hear  the  appellation  after  he  had  relinquished  the 
office),  "  it  appears  to  me  that  Harry  has  shown  nothing  but 
a  proper  spirit.  You  are  unkind — indeed  you  are." 

"A  proper  spirit?  In  what  way  ?  Do  you  know  any- 
thing of  the  matter  ? " 

"  It  is  a  proper  spirit  for  a  soldier  to  fight,  I  suppose," 
said  the  wife,  a  little  at  a  loss  to  explain. 

"  Spirit  or  no  spirit — apology,  or  ten  and  sixpence." 

"  Harry,"  said  his  mother,  holding  up  her  finger  in  a 
menacing  attitude,  as  soon  as  her  husband  had  left  the 
room  (for  he  had  last  spoken  with  the  door  in  his  hand), 
"if  you  do  beg  his  pardon,  you  are  no  son  of  mine." 

"No,"  cried  Miss  Sarah,  "nor  any  brother  of  mine.  It 
would  be  insufferably  mean." 

" Who  will  pay  my  debts?"  asked  the  son,  looking  up 
at  the  ceiling. 

"  Why,  I  would,  my  child,  if — if — I  had  not  spent  my 
own  allowance." 

"I  would,"  echoed  the  sister  ;  "but  if  we  go  to  Bath, 
you  know,  I  shall  want  all  my  money." 

"Who  will  pay  my  debts?"  repeated  the  son. 

"  Apology,  indeed  !  Who  is  he,  that  you,  a  son  of  Alder- 
man^of — Mr.  Jarvis,  of  the  Deanery,  B ,  Northamp- 
tonshire, should  beg  his  pardon — a  vagrant  that  nobody 
knows?  " 

"  Who  will  pay  my  debts  ?"  again  inquired  the  captain, 
drumming  with  his  foot. 

"  Harry,"  exclaimed  the  mother,  "  do  you  love  money 
better  than  honor — a  soldier's  honor?" 

"  No,  mother  ;  but  I  like  good  eating  and  drinking. 
Think,  mother — it's  a  cool  five  hundred  ;  and  that's  a 
famous  deal  of  money." 

"Harry,"  cried  the  mother,  in  a  rage,  "you  are  not  fit 
for  a  soldier  !  I  wish  I  were  in  your  place." 

"  I  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  you  had  been  for  an  hour 
this  morning,"  thought  the  son.  After  arguing  for  some 
time  longer,  they  compromised,  by  agreeing  to  leave  it  to 
the  decision  of  Colonel  Egerton,  who,  the  mother  did  not 
doubt,  would  applaud  her  maintaining  the  Jarvis  dignity, 
a  family  in  which  he  took  quite  as  much  interest  as  he 
felt  for  his  own — so  he  had  told  her  fifty  times.  The  cap- 


PR  EC  A  UTIOtf.  83 

tain,  however,  determined  within  himself  to  touch  the  five 
hundred,  let  the  colonel  decide  as  he  might ;  but  the  col- 
onel's decision  obviated  all  difficulties.  The  question  was 
put  to  him  by  Mrs.  Jarvis,  on  his  return  from  the  airing, 
with  no  doubt  the  decision  would  be  favorable  to  her 
opinion.  The  colonel  and  herself,  she  said,  never  disa- 
greed ;  and  the  lady  was  right — for  wherever  his  interest 
made  it  desirable  to  convert  Mrs.  Jarvis  to  his  side  of  the 
question,  Egerton  had  a  manner  of  doing  it  that  never 
failed  to  succeed. 

"Why,  madam,"  said  he,  with  one  of  his  most  agreeable 
smiles,  "  apologies  are  different  things  at  different  times. 
You  are  certainly  right  in  your  sentiments,  as  relates  to  a 
proper  spirit  in  a  soldier  ;  but  no  one  can  doubt  the  spirit 
of  the  captain,  after  the  stand  he  took  in  this  affair.  If 
Mr.  Denbigh  would  not  meet  him  (a  very  extraordin- 
ary measure,  indeed,  I  confess),  what  can  your  son  do 
more  ?  He  cannot  make  a  man  fight  against  his  will,  you 
know." 

"  True,  true,"  cried  the  matron,  impatiently,  "  I  do  not 
want  him  to  fight ;  Heaven  forbid !  But  why  should  he, 
the  challenger,  beg  pardon  ?  I  am  sure,  to  have  the  thing 
regular,  Mr.  Denbigh  is  the  one  to  ask  forgiveness." 

The  colonel  felt  at  a  little  loss  how  to  reply,  when  Jar- 
vis,  in  whom  the  thoughts  of  the  five  hundred  pounds  had 
worked  a  revolution,  exclaimed — 

"  You  know,  mother,  I  accused  him — that  is,  I  suspected 
him  of  dancing  with  Miss  Moseley  against  my  right  to  her. 
Now  you  find  that  it  was  all  a  mistake,  and  so  I  had  better 
act  with  dignity,  and  confess  my  error." 

"  Oh,  by  all  means,"  cried  the  colonel,  who  saw  the  dan- 
ger of  an  embarrassing  rupture  between  the  families  other- 
wise ;  "delicacy  to  your  sex  particularly  requires  that, 
ma'am,  from  your  son  ; "  and  he  accidentally  dropped  a 
letter  as  he  spoke. 

"From  Sir  Edgar,  colonel  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Jarvis,  as  he 
stooped  to  pick  it  up. 

."  From  Sir  Edgar,  ma'am,  and  he  begs  to  be  remem- 
bered to  yourself  and  all  of  your  amiable  family." 

Mrs.  Jarvis  inclined  her  body,  in  what  she  intended  for 
a  graceful  bend,  and  sighed — a  casual  observer  might  have 
thought,  with  maternal  anxiety  for  the  reputation  of  her 
child — but  it  was  conjugal  regret  that  the  political  obsti- 
nacy of  the  alderman  had  prevented  his  carrying  up  an 
address,  and  thus  becoming  Sir  Timothy.  Sir  Fdgar's 


84  PRECA  UT10N. 

heir  prevailed,  and  the  captain  received  permission  to  do 
what  he  had  done  several  hours  before. 

On  leaving  the  room,  after  the  first  discussion,  and 
before  the  appeal,  the  captain  had  hastened  to  his  father 
with  his  concessions.  The  old  gentleman  knew  too  well 
the  influence  of  five  hundred  pounds  to  doubt  the  effect 
in  the  present  instance,  and  he  had  ordered  his  carriage 
for  the  excursion.  It  came,  and  to  the  Hall  they  pro- 
ceeded. The  captain  found  his  intended  antagonist,  and 
in  a  rather  uncouth  manner  he  made  the  required  conces- 
sion. He  was  restored  to  his  former  favor — no  great  dis- 
tinction— and  his  visits  to  the  Hall  were  suffered,  but  with 
a  dislike  Emily  could  never  conquer,  nor  at  all  times  con- 
ceal. 

Denbigh  was  occupied  with  a  book,  when  Jarvis  com- 
menced his  speech  to  the  baronet  and  his  daughter,  and 
was  apparently  too  much  engaged  with  its  contents  to 
understand  what  was  going  on,  as  the  captain  blundered 
through.  It  was  necessary,  the  captain  saw,  by  a  glance 
of  his  father's  eyes,  to  say  something  to  that  gentleman, 
who  had  delicately  withdrawn  to  a  distant  window.  His 
speech  was  consequently  made  here  too,  and  Mrs.  Wilson 
could  not  avoid  stealing  a  look  at  them.  Denbigh  smiled, 
and  bowed  in  silence.  It  is  enough,  thought  the  widow ; 
the  offence  was  not  against  him,  it  was  against  his  Maker  ; 
he  should  not  arrogate  to  himself,  in  any  manner,  the  right 
to  forgive,  or  to  require  apologies — the  whole  is  consistent. 
The  subject  was  never  afterward  alluded  to  :  Denbigh  ap- 
peared to  have  forgotten  it ;  and  Jane  sighed  gently,  as 
she  devoutly  hoped  the  colonel  was  not  a  duellist. 

Several  days  passed  before  the  Deanery  ladies  could 
sufficiently  forgive  the  indignity  their  family  had  sus- 
tained, to  resume  the  customary  intercourse.  Like  all 
other  grievances,  where  the  passions  are  chiefly  interested, 
it  was  forgotten  in  time,  however,  and  things  were  put  in 
some  measure  on  their  former  footing.  The  death  of 
Digby  served  to  increase  the  horror  of  the  Moseleys,  arid 
Jarvis  himself  felt  rather  uncomfortable,  on  more  accounts 
than  one,  at  the  fatal  termination  of  the  unpleasant  busi- 
ness. 

Chatterton,  who  to  his  friends  had  not  hesitated  to  avow 
his  attachment  to  his  cousin,  but  who  had  never  proposed 
for  her,  as  his  present  views  and  fortune  were  not,  in  his 
estimation,  sufficient  for  her  proper  support,  had  pushed 
every  interest  he  possessed,  and  left  no  steps  unattempted 


PR  EC  A  UT10N.  81,- 

an  honorable  man  could  resort  to,  to  effect  his  object. 
The  desire  to  provide  for  his  sisters  had  been  backed  by 
the  ardor  of  a  passion  that  had  reached  its  crisis  ;  and  the 
young  peer  who  could  not,  in  the  present  state  of  things, 
abandon  the  field  to  a  rival  so  formidable  as  Denbigh, 
even  to  further  his  views  to  preferment,  was  waiting  in 
anxious  suspense  the  decision  on  his  application.  A  letter 
from  his  friend  informed  him  his  opponent  was  likely  to 
succeed  ;  that,  in  short,  all  hopes  of  success  had  left  him. 
Chatterton  was  in  despair.  On  the  following  day,  how- 
ever, he  received  a  second  letter  from  the  same  friend,  un- 
expectedly announcing  his  appointment.  After  mention- 
ing the  fact,  he  went  on  to  say — "  The  cause  of  this  sudden 
revolution  in  your  favor  is  unknown  to  me,  and  unless 
your  lordship  has  obtained  interest  I  am  ignorant  of,  it  is 
one  of  the  most  singular  instances  of  ministerial  caprice  I 
have  ever  known."  Chatterton  was  as  much  at  a  loss  as 
his  friend  to  understand  the  affair ;  but  it  mattered  not  ; 
he  could  now  offer  to  Emily — it  was  a  patent  office  of 
great  value,  and  a  few  years  would  amply  portion  his  sis- 
ters. That  very  day,  therefore,  he  proposed,  and  was  re- 
fused. < 

Emily  had  a  difficult  task  to  avoid  self-reproach,  in  reg- 
ulating her  deportment  on  this  occasion.  She  was  fond  of 
Chatterton  as  a  relation — as  her  brother's  friend — as  the 
brother  of  Grace,  and  even  on  his  own  account  ;  but  it 
was  the  fondness  of  a  sister.  His  manner — his  words, 
which,  although  never  addressed  to  herself,  were  sotne- 
times  overheard  unintentionally,  and  sometimes  reached 
her  through  her  sisters,  had  left  her  in  no  doubt  of  his  at- 
tachment;  she  was  excessively  grieved  at  the  discovery, 
and  had  innocently  appealed  to  her  aunt  for  directions 
how  to  proceed.  Of  his  intentions  she  had  no  doubt,  but 
at  the  same  time  he  had  not  put  her  in  a  situation  to  dis- 
pel his  hopes  ;  as  to  encouragement,  in  the  usual  meaning 
of  the  term,  she  gave  none  to  him,  nor  to  any  one  else. 
There  are  no  little  attentions  that  lovers  are  fond  of  show- 
ing to  their  mistresses,  and  which  mistresses  are  fond  of 
receiving,  that  Emily  ever  permitted  to  any  gentleman — 
no  rides,  no  walks,  no  tete-a-tetes.  Always  natural  and  un- 
affected, there  was  a  simple  dignity  about  her  that  forbade 
the  request,  almost  the  thought,  in  the  gentlemen  of  her 
acquaintance  :  she  had  no  amusements,  no  pleasures  of  any 
kind  in  which  her  sisters  were  not  her  companions  ;  and  if 
anything  was  on  the  carpet  that  required  an  attendant, 


86  PR  EC  A  UTIOJV. 

John  was  ever  ready.  He  was  devoted  to  her  ;  the  de- 
cided preference  she  gave  him  over  every  other  man  upon 
such  occasions  flattered  his  affection  ;  and  he  would,  at 
any  time,  leave  even  Grace  Chatterton  to  attend  his  sister. 
All  this  too  was  without  affectation,  and  generally  without 
notice.  Emily  so  looked  the  delicacy  and  reserve  she 
acted  with  so  little  ostentation  that  not  even  her  own  sex 
had  affixed  to  her  conduct  the  epithet  of  squeamish  ;  it 
was  difficult,  therefore,  for  her  to  do  anything  which  would 
show  Lord  Chatterton  her  disinclination  to  his  suit,  with- 
out assuming  a  dislike  she  did  not  feel,  or  giving  him  slights 
that  neither  good-breeding  nor  good  nature  could  justify. 
At  one  time,  indeed,  she  had  expressed  a  wish  to  return  to 
Clara  ;  but  this  Mrs.  Wilson  thought  would  only  protract 
the  evil,  and  she  was  compelled  to  wait  his  own  time.  The 
peer  himself  did  not  rejoice  more  in  his  ability  to  make 
the  offer,  therefore,  than  Emily  did  to  have  it  in  her  power 
to  decline  it.  Her  rejection  was  firm  and  unqualified,  but 
uttered  with  a  grace  and  a  tenderness  to  his  feelings,  that 
bound  her  lover  tighter  than  ever  in  her  chains,  and  he 
resolved  on  immediate  flight  as  his  only  recourse. 

"  I  hope  nothing  unpleasant  has  occurred  to  Lord 
Chatterton,"  said  Denbigh,  with  great  interest,  as  he 
reached  the  spot  where  the  young  peer  stood  leaning 
his  head  against  a  tree,  on  his  way  from '  the  rectory  to 
the  Hall. 

Chatterton  raised  his  face  as  he  spoke :  there  were  evi- 
dent traces  of  tears  on  it,  and  Denbigh,  greatly  shocked, 
was  about  to  proceed  as  the  other  caught  his  arm. 

"  Mr.  Denbigh,"  said  the  young  man,  in  a  voice  almost 
choked  with  emotion,  "  may  you  never  know  the  pain  I 
have  felt  this  morning.  Emily — Emily  Moseiey — is  lost  to 
me — forever." 

For  a  moment  the  blood  rushed  to  the  face  of  Denbigh, 
and  his  eyes  flashed  with  a  look  that  Chatterton  could 
not  stand.  He  turned,  as  the  voice  of  Denbigh,  in  those 
remarkable  tones  which  distinguished  it  from  every  other 
voice  he  had  ever  heard,  uttered — 

"  Chatterton,  my  lord,  we  are  friends,  I  hope — I  wish  it, 
from  my  heart.-' 

"  Go,  Mr.  Denbigh,  go.  You  were  going  to  Miss  Mose- 
iey— do  not  let  me  detain  you." 

"  I  am  going  with  jw/,  Lord  Chatterton,  unless  you  for- 
bid it,"  said  Denbigh,  with  emphasis,  slipping  his  arm 
through  that  of  the  peer. 


PRECA  UTJON'.  87 

For  two  hours  they  walked  together  in  the  park  ;  and 
when  they  appeared  at  dinner,  Emily  wondered  why  Mr. 
Denbigh  had  taken  a  seat  next  to  her  mother,  instead  of 
his  usual  place  between  herself  and  her  aunt.  In  the  even- 
ing he  announced  his  intention  of  leaving  B for  a 

short  time  with  Lord  Chatterton.  They  were  going  to 
London  together  ;  but  he  hoped  to  return  within  ten  days. 
This  sudden  determination  caused  some  surprise  ;  but  as 
the  dowager  supposed  it  was  to  secure  the  new  situation, 
and  the  remainder  of  their  friends  thought  it  might  be 
business,  it  was  soon  forgotten,  though  much  regretted 
for  the  time.  The  gentlemen  left  the  Hall  that  night  to 
proceed  to  an  inn,  from  which  they  could  obtain  a  chaise 
and  horses;  and  the  following  morning,  when  the  baronet's 
family  assembled  around  their  social  breakfast,  they  were 
many  miles  on  the  road  to  tli£  metropolis. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

LADY  CHATTERTON,  finding  that  little  was  to  be  expected 
in  her  present  situation,  excepting  what  she  looked  for- 
ward to  from  the  varying  admiration  of  John  Moseley  to 
her  youngest  daughter,  determined  to  accept  an  invitation 
of  some  standing  to  a  nobleman's  seat  about  fifty  miles 
from  the  Hall,  and,  in  order  to  keep  things  in  their  proper 
places,  to  leave  Grace  with  her  friends,  who  had  expressed 
a  wish  to  that  effect.  Accordingly,  the  day  succeeding  the 
departure  of  her  son,  she  proceeded  on  her  expedition,  ac- 
companied by  her  willing  assistant  in  the  matrimonial 
speculations. 

Grace  Chatterton  was  by  nature  retiring  and  delicate  ; 
but  her  feelings  were  acute,  and  on  the  subject  of  female 
propriety  sensitive  to  a  degree  that  the  great  want  of  it  in 
a  relation  she  loved  as  much  as  her  mother  had  possibly 
in  some  measure  increased.  Her  affections  were  too  single 
in  their  objects  to  have  left  her  long  in  doubt  as  to  their 
nature  with  respect  to  the  baronet's  son  ;  and  it  was  one 
of  the  most  painful  orders  she  had  ever  received,  that 
which  compelled  her  to  accept  her  cousin's  invitation. 
Her  mother  was  peremptory,  however,  and  Grace  was 
obliged  to  comply.  Every  delicate  feeling  she  possessed 
revolted  at  the  step  ;  the  visit  itself  was  unwished-  for  on 
her  part  ;  but  there  did  exist  a  reason  which  had  recon- 


88  PR  EC  A  UTJON. 

ciled  her  to  that — the  wedding  of  Clara.  But  now  to  re- 
main, after  all  her  family  had  gone,  in  the  house  where 
resided  the  man  who  had  as  yet  never  solicited  those  affec- 
tions she  had  been  unable  to  withhold,  it  was  humiliating 
— it  was  degrading  her  in  her  own  esteem,  and  she  could 
scarcely  endure  it. 

It  is  said  that  women  are  fertile  in  inventions  to  further 
their  schemes  of  personal  gratification,  vanity,  or  even 
mischief.  It  may  be  it  is  true  ;  but  the  writer  of  these 
pages  is  a  man — one  who  has  seen  much  of  the  other  sex, 
and  he  is  happy  to  have  an  opportunity  of  paying  a  trib- 
ute to  female  purity  and  female  truth.  That  there  are 
hearts  so  disinterested  as  to  lose  the  considerations  of  self, 
in  advancing  the  happiness  of  those  they  love  ;  that  there 
are  minds  so  pure  as  to  recoil  with  disgust  from  the  ad- 
mission of  deception,  indelicacy,  or  management,  he  knows  ; 
for  he  has  seen  it  from  long  and  close  examination.  He 
regrets  that  the  very  artlessness  of  those  who  are  most 
pure  in  the  one  sex,  subjects  them  to  the  suspicions  of  the 
grosser  materials  which  compose  the  other.  He  believes 
that  innocency,  singleness  of  heart,  ardency  of  feeling,  and 
unalloyed,  shrinking  delicacy,  sometimes  exist  in  the  fe- 
male bosom,  to  an  extent  that  but  few  men  are  happy 
enough  to  discover,  and  that  most  men  believe  incompati- 
ble with  the  frailties  of  human  nature. 

Grace  Chatterton  possessed  no  little  of  what  may  almost 
be  called  this  ethereal  spirit,  and  a  visit  to  Bolton  parson- 
age was  immediately  proposed  by  her  to  Emily.  The  lat- 
ter, too  innocent  herself  to  suspect  the  motives  of  her 
cousin,  was  happy  to  be  allowed  to  devote  a  fortnight  to 
Clara,  uninterrupted  by  the  noisy  round  of  visiting  and 
congratulations  which  had  attended  her  first  week  ;  and 
Mrs.  Wilson  and  the  two  girls  left  the  Hall  the  same  day 
with  the  dowager  Lady  Chatterton.  Francis  and  Clara 
were  happy  to  receive  them,  and  they  were  immediately 
domesticated  in  their  new  abode.  Doctor  Ives  and  his 
wife  had  postponed  an  annual  visit  to  a  relation  of  the 
former  on  account  of  the  marriage  of  their  son  ;  and  they 
now  availed  themselves  of  this  visit  to  perform  their  own 

engagement.  B appeared  in  some  measure  deserted, 

and  Egerton  had  the  field  almost  to  himself.  Summer  had 
arrived,  and  the  country  bloomed  in  all  its  luxuriance  of 
vegetation  ;  everything  was  propitious  to  the  indulgence 
of  the  softer  passions  ;  and  Lady  Moseley,  ever  a  strict  ad- 
herent to  forms  and  decorum,  admitted  the  intercourse  be- 


PR  EC  A  UTION.  89 

tween  Jane  and  lier  admirer  to  be  carried  to  as  great 
lengths  as  those  forms  would  justify.  Still  the  colonel 
was  not  explicit ;  and  Jane,  whose  delicacy  dreaded  the 
exposure  of  feelings  that  was  involved  in  his  declaration, 
gave  or  sought  no  marked  opportunities  for  the  avowal  of 
his  passion.  Yet  they  were  seldom  separate,  and  both  Sir 
Edward  and  his  wife  looked  forward  to  their  future  union 
as  a  thing  not  to  be  doubted.  Lady  Moseley  had  given  up 
her  youngest  child  so  absolutely  to  the  government  of  her 
aunt,  that  she  seldom  thought  of  her  future  establishment. 
She  had  that  kind  of  reposing  confidence  in  Mrs.  Wilson's 
proceedings  that  feeble  minds  ever  bestow  on  those  who 
are  much  superior  to  them  :  and  she  even  approved  of  a 
system  in  many  respects  which  she  could  not  endeavor  to 
imitate.  Her  affection  for  Emily  was  not,  however,  less 
than  what  she  felt  for  her  other  children  ;  she  was,  in  fact, 
her  favorite,  and,  had  the  discipline  of  Mrs.  Wilson  ad- 
mitted of  so  weak  an  interference,  might  have  been  in- 
jured as  such. 

John  Moseley  had  been  able  to  find  out  exactly  the  hour 
they  breakfasted  at  the  Deanery,  the  length  of  time  it  took 
Egerton's  horses  to  go  the  distance  between  that  house 
and  the  Hall ;  and  on  the  sixth  morning  after  the  depart- 
ure of  his  aunt,  John's  bays  were  in  his  phaeton,  and, 
allowing  ten  minutes  for  the  mile  and  a  half  to  the  park- 
gates,  John  had  got  happily  off  his  own  territories  before 
he  met  the  tilbury  travelling  eastward.  "  I  am  not  to 
know  which  road  the  colonel  may  turn,"  thought  John  ; 
and  after  a  few  friendly  but  rather  hasty  greetings,  the 
bays  were  again  in  full  trot  to  the  parsonage. 

"John,"  said  Emily,  holding  out  her  hand  affectionately, 
and  smiling  a  little  archly,  as  he  approached  the  window 
where  she  stood,  "  you  should  take  a  lesson  in  driving 
from  Frank  ;  you  have  turned  more  than  one  hair,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"  How  is  Clara  ?"  cried  John,  hastily  taking  the  offered 
hand,  with  a  kiss,  "  ay,  and  aunt  Wilson  ?" 

•  ' 'Both  well,  brother,   and  out  walking  this  fine  morn- 
ing." 

"  How  happens  it  you  are  not  with  them  ?  "  inquired  the 
brother,  throwing  his  eyes  round  the  room.  "  Have  they 
left  you  alone  ?  " 

"No,  Grace  has  this  moment  left  me." 

"  Well,  Emily,"  said  John,  taking  his  seat  very  com- 
posedly, but  keeping  his  eyes  on  the  door,  "  I  have  come 


90  PR  EC  A  UTION-. 

to  dine  with  you.  I  thought  I  owed  Clara  a  visit,  and 
have  managed  nicely  to  give  the  colonel  the  go-by." 

"  Clara  will  be  happy  to  see  you,  dear  John,  and  so  will 
aunt,  and  so  am  I  "—as  she  drew  aside  his  fine  hair  with 
her  fingers  to  cool  his  forehead. 

"And  why  not  Grace,  too  ?"  asked  John,  with  a  look  of 
a  little  alarm. 

"And  Grace,  too,  I  fancy — but  here  she  is,  to  answer 
for  herself."  Grace  said  little  on  her  entrance,  but  her 
eyes  were  brighter  than  usual,  and  she  looked  so  contented 
and  happy,  that  Emily  observed  to  her,  in  an  affectionate 
manner — 

"  I  knew  the  eau-de-Cologne  would  do  your  head  good." 

"Is  Miss  Chatterton  unwell?"  asked  John  with  a  look 
of  interest. 

"A  slight  headache,"  said  Grace,  faintly,  "but  I  feel 
much  better." 

"  Want  of  air  and  exercise ;  my  horses  are  at  the  door ; 
the  phaeton  will  hold  three  easily  ;  run,  sister,  for  your 
hat,"  almost  pushing  Emily  out  of  the  room  as  he  spoke. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  horses  might  have  been  suffering  for 
air,  but  surely  not  for  exercise. 

"I  wish,"  cried  John,  with  impatience,  when  at  the  dis- 
tance of  a  couple  of  miles  from  the  parsonage,  "  that  gen- 
tleman had  driven  his  gig  out  of  the  road." 

There  was  a  small  group  on  one  side  of  the  road,  con- 
sisting of  a  man,  a  woman,  and  several  children.  The 
owner  of  the  gig  had  alighted,  and  was  in  the  act  of 
speaking  to  them,  as  the  phaeton  approached  at  a  great 
rate. 

"John,"  cried  Emily,  in  terror,  "you  never  can  pass — 
you  will  upset  us." 

"  There  is  no  danger,  dear  Grace,"  said  the  brother,  en- 
deavoring to  check  his  horses  ;  he  succeeded  in  part,  but 
not  so  as  to  prevent  his  passing  at  a  spot  where  the  road 
was  very  narrow  ;  a  wheel  hit  violently  against  a  stone, 
and  some  of  his  works  gave  way.  The  gentleman  immedi- 
ately hastened  to  his  assistance — it  was  Denbigh. 

"Miss  Mosely!"  cried  he,  in  a  voice  of  the  tenderest 
interest,  "you  are  not  hurt  in  the  least,  I  hope  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Emily,  recovering  her  breath,  "  only  fright- 
ened ;"  and  taking  his  hand,  she  sprang  from  the  carriage. 

Miss  Chatterton  found  courage  to  wait  quietly  for  the 
care  of  John.  His  "dear  Grace  "  had  thrilled  on  every 
nerve,  and  she  afterward  often  laughed  at  Emily  for  her 


PR  EC  A  UTION.  gi 

terror  when  there  was  so  little  danger.  The  horses  tvere 
not  in  -the  least  frightened,  and  after  a  little  mending,  John 
declared  all  was  safe.  To  ask  Emily  to  enter  the  carriage 
again  was  to  exact  no  little  sacrifice  of  her  feelings  to  her 
reason  ;  and  she  stood  in  a  suspense  that  too  plainly 
showed  that  the  terror  she  had  been  in  had  not  left  her. 

"  If,"  said  Denbigh,  modestly,  "  if  Mr.  Moseley  will  take 
the  ladies  in  my  gig,  I  will  drive  the  phaeton  to  the  Hall, 
as  it  is  rather  unsafe  for  so  heavy  a  load." 

"  No,  no,  Denbigh,"  said  John,  coolly,  "  you  are  not  used 
to  such  mettled  nags  as  mine — it  would  be  indiscreet  for 
you  to  drive  them  ;  if,  however,  you  will  be  good  enough 
to  take  Emily  into  your  gig — Grace  Chatterton,  I  am  sure, 
is  not  afraid  to  trust  my  driving,  and  we  might  all  get  back 
as  well  as  ever." 

Grace  gave  her  hand  almost  unconsciously  to  John,  and 
•he  handed  her  into  the  phaeton,  as  Denbigh  stood  willing 
to  execute  his  part  of  the  arrangement,  but  too  diffident 
to  speak.  It  was  not  a  moment  for  affectation,  if  Emily 
had  been  capable  of  it,  and  blushing  with  the  novelty  of 
her  situation,  she  took  her  place  in  the  gig.  Denbigh 
stopped  and  turned  his  eyes  on  the  little  group  with  which 
he  had  been  talking,  and  at  that  moment  they  caught  the 
attention  of  John  also.  The  latter  inquired  after  their 
situation.  The  tale  was  a  piteous  one,  the  distress  evi- 
dently real.  The  husband  had  been  gardener  to  a  gentle- 
man in  a  neighboring  county,  and  he  had  been  lately 
discharged,  to  make  way,  in  the  difficulty  of  the  times,  for 
a  relation  of  the  steward,  who  was  in  want  of  the  place. 
Suddenly  thrown  on  the  world,  with  a  wife  and  four  chil- 
dren, with  but  the  wages  of  a  week  for  his  and  their  sup- 
port, they  had  travelled  thus  far  on  the  way  to  a  neighbor- 
ing parish,  where  he  said  he  had  a  right  to,  and  must  seek 
public  assistance.  The  children  were  crying  for  hunger, 
and  the  mother,  who  was  a  nurse,  had  been  unable  to  walk 
further  than  where  she  sat,  but  had  sunk  on  the  ground 
overcome  with  fatigue,  and  weak  from  the  want  of  nour- 
ishment. Neither  Emily  nor  Grace  could  refrain  from 
tears  at  the  recital  of  these  heavy  woes  ;  the  want  of  sus- 
tenance was  something  so  shocking  in  itself,  and  brought, 
as  it  were,  immediately  before  their  eyes,  the  appeal  was 
irresistible.  John  forgot  his  bays — forgot  even  Grace,  as 
he  listened  to  the  affecting  story  related  by  the  woman, 
who  was  much  revived  by  some  nutriment  Denbigh  had 
obtained  from  a  cottage  near  them,  and  to  which  they 


92  PRECA  UT7ON. 

were  about  to  proceed  by  his  directions  as  Moseley  inter- 
rupted them.  His  hand  shook,  his  eyes  glistened  as  he 
took  his  purse  from  his  pocket,  and  gave  several  guineas 
from  it  to  the  mendicant.  Grace  thought  John  had  never 
appeared  so  handsome  as  the  moment  he  handed  the  mon- 
ey to  the  gardener  ;  his  face  glowed  with  unusual  excite- 
ment, and  his  symmetry  had  lost  the  only  charm  he  wanted 
in  common,  softness.  Denbigh,  after  waiting  patiently 
until  Moseley  had  bestowed  his  alms,  gravely  repeated  his 
directions  for  their  proceeding  to  the  cottage,  when  the 
carriages  moved  on. 

Emily  revolved  in  her  mind,  during  their  short  ride,  the 
horrid  distress  she  had  witnessed.  It  had  taken  a  strong 
hold  on  her  feelings.  Like  her  brother,  she  was  warm- 
hearted and  compassionate,  if  we  may  use  the  term,  to 
excess  ;  and  had  she  been  prepared  with  the  means,  the 
gardener  would  have  reaped  a  double  harvest  of  donations- 
It  struck  her,  at  the  moment,  unpleasantly,  that  Denbigh 
had  been  so  backward  in  his  liberality.  The  man  had 
rather  sullenly  displayed  half  a  crown  as  his  gift,  in  con- 
trast with  the  golden  shower  of  John's  generosity.  It  had 
been  even  somewhat  offensive  in  its  exhibition,  and  urged 
her  brother  to  a  more  hasty  departure  than,  under  other 
circumstances,  he  would  just  at  the  moment  have  felt  dis- 
posed to  make.  Denbigh,  however,  had  taken  no  notice 
of  the  indignity,  and  continued  his  directions  in  the  same 
mild  and  benevolent  manner  he  had  used  during  the  whole 
interview.  "Half  a  crown  was  but  little,"  thought  Emily, 
"  for  a  family  that  was  starving  ;"  and,  unwilling  to  judge 
harshly  of  one  she  had  begun  to  value  so  highly,  she  came 
to  the  painful  conclusion  that  her  companion  was  not  as 
rich  as  he  deserved  to  be.  Emily  had  not  yet  to  learn  that 
charity  was  in  proportion  to  the  means  of  the  donor,  and 
a  gentle  wish  insensibly  stole  over  her  that  Denbigh  might 
in  some  way  become  more  richly  endowed  with  the  good 
things  of  this  world.  Until  this  moment  her  thoughts  had 
never  turned  to  his  temporal  condition.  She  knew  he  was 
an  officer  in  the  army,  but  of  what  rank,  or  even  of  what 
regiment,  she  was  ignorant.  He  had  frequently  touched 
in  his  conversations  on  the  customs  of  the  different  coun- 
tries he  had  seen.  He  had  served  in  Italy,  in  the  north  of 
Europe,  in  the  West  Indies,  in  Spain.  Of  the  manners  of 
the  people,  of  their  characters,  he  not  unfrequently  spoke, 
and  with  a  degree  of  intelligence,  a  liberality,  a  justness 
of  discrimination,  that  had  charmed  his  auditors  ;  but  on 


PRECA  UTION-.  93 

the  point  of  personal  service  he  had  maintained  a  silence 
that  was  inflexible,  and  not  a  little  surprising — more  par- 
ticularly of  that  part  of  his  history  which  related  to  the 
latter  country  ;  from  all  which  she  was  rather  inclined  to 
think  his  military  rank  was  not  as  high  as  she  thought  he 
merited,  and  that  possibly  he  felt  an  awkwardness  of  put- 
ting it  in  contrast  with  the  more  elevated  station  of  Col- 
onel Egerton.  The  same  idea  had  struck  the  whole  family, 
and  prevented  any  inquiries  which  might  be  painful.  He 
was  so  connected  with  the  mournful  event  of  his  father's 
death,  that  no  questions  could  be  put  with  propriety  to 
the  doctor's  family  ;  and  if  Francis  had  been  more  com- 
municative to  Clara,  she  was  too  good  a  wife  to  mention 
it,  and  her  own  family  was  possessed  of  too  just  a  sense 
of  propriety  to  touch  upon  points  that  might  bring  her 
conjugal  fidelity  in  question. 

Though  Denbigh  appeared  a  little  abstracted  during  the 
ride,  his  questions  concerning  Sir  Edward  and  her  friends 
were  kind  and  affectionate.  As  they  approached  the 
house,  he  suffered  his  horse  to  walk,  and,  after  some  hesi- 
tation, he  took  a  letter  from  his  pocket,  and  handing  it  to 
her,  said — 

"  I  hope  Miss  Moseley  will  not  think  me  impertinent  in 
becoming  the  bearer  of  a  letter  from  her  cousin,  Lord 
Chatterton.  He  requested  it  so  earnestly,  that  I  could 
not  refuse  taking  what  I  am  sensible  is  a  great  liberty  ;  for 
it  would  be  deception  did  I  affect  to  be  ignorant  of  his  ad- 
miration, or  of  his  generous  treatment  of  a  passion  she 
cannot  return.  Chatterton  " — and  he  smiled  mournfully 
— "  is  yet  too  true  to  cease  his  commendations." 

Emily  blushed  painfully,  but  she  took  the  letter  in  si- 
lence ;  and  as  Denbigh  pursued  the  topic  no  further,  the 
little  distance  they  had  to  go  was  ridden  in  silence.  On 
entering  the  gates,  however,  he  said,  inquiringly,  and  with 
much  interest — 

"  I  sincerely  hope  I  have  not  given  offence  to  your 
delicacy,  Miss  Moseley.  Lord  Chatterton  has  made  me  an 
unwilling  confidant.  I  need  not  say  the  secret  is  sacred, 
on  more  accounts  than  one." 

"  Surely  not,  Mr.  Denbigh,"  replied  Emily,  in  a  low 
tone  ;  and  the  gig  stopping,  she  hastened  to  accept  the 
assistance  of  her  brother  to  alight. 

"Well,  sister,"  cried  John,  laughing,  "Denbigh  is  a  dis- 
ciple to  Frank's  system  of  horseflesh.  Hairs  smooth 
enough  here,  I  see.  Grace  and  I  thought  you  would  never 


94  PRECA  UTION-. 

get  home."  Now  John  fibbed  a  little,  for  neither  Grace 
nor  he  had  thought  in  the  least  about  them,' or  anything 
else  but  each  other,  from  the  moment  they  separated  until 
the  gig  arrived. 

Emily  made  no  reply  to  this  speech  ;  and,  as  the  gentle- 
men were  engaged  in  giving  directions  concerning  their 
horses,  she  seized  an  opportunity  to  read  Chatterton's 
letter  : 

"  I  avail  myself  of  the  return  of  my  friend  Mr.  Denbigh 
to  that  happy  family  from  which  reason  requires  my  self- 
banishment,  to  assure  my  amiable  cousin  of  my  continued 
respect  for  her  character,  and  to  convince  her  of  my  grati- 
tude for  the  tenderness  she  has  manifested  to  feelings  she 
cannot  return.  I  may  even  venture  to  tell  her — what  few 
women  would  be  pleased  to  hear,  but  what  I  know  Emily 
Moseley  too  well  to  doubt,  for  a  moment,  will  give  her  un- 
alloyed pleasure — that  owing  to  the  kind,  the  benevolent, 
the  brotherly  attentions  of  my  true  friend,  Mr.  Denbigh,  I 
have  already  gained  a  peace  of  mind  and  resignation  I  once 
thought  were  lost  to  me  forever.  Ah  !  Emily,  my  beloved 
cousin,  in  Denbigh  you  will  find,  I  doubt  not,  a  mind, 
principles,  congenial  to  your  own.  It  is  impossible  that 
he  could  see  you  without  wishing  to  possess  such  a  treas- 
ure ;  and,  if  I  have  a  wish  that  is  now  uppermost  in  my 
heart,  it  is,  that  you  may  learn  to  esteem  each  other  as  you 
ought — when,  I  doubt  not,  you  will  become  as  happy  as 
you  both  deserve  to  be.  What  greater  earthly  blessings 
can  I  implore  upon  you  ?  CHATTERTON." 

Emily,  while  reading  this  epistle,  felt  a  confusion  but 
little  inferior  to  that  which  would  have  oppressed  her  had 
Denbigh  himself  been  at  her  feet,  soliciting  that  love  Chat- 
terton  thought  him  so  worthy  of  possessing  ;  and  when 
they  met,  she  could  hardly  look  in  the  face  a  man  who,  it 
would  seem,  had  been  so  openly  selected  by  another  as  the 
fittest  to  be  her  partner  for  life.  The  unaltered  manner 
of  Denbigh  himself,  however,  soon  convinced  her  that  he 
was  entirely  ignorant  of  the  contents  of  the  note,  and  it 
greatly  relieved  her  from  the  awkwardness  his  presence  at 
first  occasioned. 

Francis  soon  returned,  accompanied  by  his  wife  and 
aunt,  and  was  overjoyed  to  find  the  guest  who  had  so  un- 
expectedly arrived.  His  parents  had  not  yet  returned 
from  their  visit,  and  Denbigh,  of  course,  would  remain  at 


PRECA  UTION.  95 

his  present  quarters.  John  promised  to  continue  with 
them  for  a  couple  of  days  ;  and  everything  was  soon  set- 
tled to  the  perfect  satisfaction  of  the  whole  party.  Mrs. 
Wilson  knew  the  great  danger  of  suffering  young  people 
to  be  inmates  of  the  same  house  too  well,  wantonly  to 
incur  the  penalties,  but  her  visit  had  nearly  expired,  and 
it  might  give  her  a  better  opportunity  of  judging  Den- 
bigh's character  ;  and  Grace  Chatterton,  though  too  deli- 
cate to  follow  herself,  was  well  contented  to  be  followed, 
especially  when  John  Moseley  was  the  pursuer. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"I  AM  sorry,  aunt,  Mr.  Denbigh  is  not  rich,"  said  Emily 
to  Mrs.  Wilson,  after  they  had  retired  in  the  evening,  al- 
most unconscious  of  what  she  uttered.  The  latter  looked 
at  her  niece  in  surprise,  at  a  remark  so  abrupt,  and  one 
so  very  different  from  the  ordinary  train  of  Emily's  reflec- 
tions, as  she  required  an  explanation.  Emily,  slightly 
coloring  at  the  channel  her  thoughts  had  insensibly  strayed 
into,  gave  her  aunt  an  account  of  their  adventure  in  the 
course  of  the  morning's  drive,  and  touched  lightly  on  the 
difference  in  the  amount  of  the  alms  of  her  brother  and 
those  of  Mr.  Denbigh. 

"The  bestowal  of  money  is  not  always  an  act  of  charity," 
observed  Mrs.  Wilson,  gravely,  and  the  subject  was  dropped; 
though  neither  ceased  to  dwell  on  it  in  her  thoughts,  until 
sleep  closed  the  eyes  of  both. 

The  following  day  Mrs.  Wilson  invited  Grace  and  Emily 
to  accompany  her  in  a  walk,  the  gentlemen  having  pre- 
ceded them  in  pursuit  of  their  different  avocations.  Francis 
had  his  regular  visits  of  spiritual  consolation  ;  John  had 
gone  to  the  Hall  for  his  pointers  and  fowling-piece,  the 
season  for  woodcock  having  arrived  ;  and  Denbigh  had 
proceeded  no  one  knew  whither.  On  gaining  the  high- 
road, Mrs.  Wilson  desired  her  companions  to  lead  the  \vay 
to  the  cottage,  where  the  family  of  the  mendicant  gardener 
had  been  lodged,  and  thither  they  soon  arrived.  On 
knocking  at  the  door,  they  were  immediately  admitted  to 
an  outer  room,  in  which  they  found  the  wife  of  the  laborer 
who  inhabited  the  building,  engaged  in  her  customary 
morning  employments.  They  explained  the  motives  of 
the  visit,  and  were  told  that  the  family  they  sought  were 


96  PR  EC  A  UTlOiV. 

in  an  adjoining  room,  but  she  rather  thought  at  that  mo« 
ment  engaged  with  a  clergyman  who  had  called  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  before.  "  I  expect,  my  lady,  it's  the  new  rector, 
who  everybody  says  is  so  good  to  the  poor  and  needy ;  but 
I  have  not  found  time  yet  to  go  to  church  to  hear  his  rev- 
erence preach,  ma'am,  "courtesying  and  handing  the  freshly- 
dusted  chairs  to  her  unexpected  visitors.  The  ladies  seated 
themselves,  too  delicate  to  interrupt  Francis  in  his  sacred 
duties,  and  were  silently  waiting  his  appearance,  when  a 
voice  was  distinctly  heard  through  the  thin  partition,  the 
first  note  of  which  undeceived  them  as  to  the  character  of 
the  gardener's  visitor. 

"It  appears,  then,  Davis,  by  your  own  confession,"  said 
Denbigh,  mildly,  but  in  a  tone  of  reproof,  "that  your  fre- 
quent acts  of  intemperance  have  at  least  given  ground  for 
the  steward's  procuring  your  discharge,  if  they  have  not 
justified  him  in  doing  that  which  his  duty  to  your  common 
employment  required." 

"  It  is  hard,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  sullenly,  "  to  be  thrown 
on  the  world  with  a  family  like  mine,  to  make  way  for  a 
younger  man  with  but  one  child." 

"It  maybe  unfortunate  for  your  wife  and  children," 
said  Denbigh,  "but  just,  as  respects  yourself.  I  have  al- 
ready convinced  you  that  my  interference  or  reproof  is 
not  an  empty  one  ;  carry  the  letter  to  the  person  to  whom 
it  is  directed,  and  I  pledge  you,  you  shall  have  a  new  trial, 
and  should  you  conduct  yourself  soberly  and  with  pro- 
priety, continued  and  ample  support ;  the  second  letter  will 
gain  your  children  immediate  admission  to  the  school  I 
mentioned  ;  and  I  now  leave  you,  with  an  earnest  injunc- 
tion to  remember  that  habits  of  intemperance  not  only 
disqualify  you  to  support  those  who  have  such  great  claims 
on  your  protection,  but  inevitably  lead  to  a  loss  of  those 
powers  which  are  necessary  to  insure  your  own  eternal 
welfare." 

"  May  heaven  bless  your  honor,"  cried  the  woman,  with 
fervor,  and  evidently  in  tears,  "  both  for  what  you  have 
said,  and  what  you  have  done.  Thomas  only  wants  to  be 
taken  from  temptation  to  become  a  sober  man  again — an 
honest  one  he  has  ever  been,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  have  selected  a  place  for  him,"  replied  Denbigh, 
"where  there  is  no  exposure  through  improper  companions, 
and  everything  now  depends  on  himself,  under  Provi- 
dence." 

Mrs.  Wilson  had  risen  from  her  chair  on  the  first  intima< 


PR  EC  A  mON.  97 

tion  given  by  Denbigh  of  his  intention  to  go,  but  had 
paused  at  the  door  to  listen  to  this  last  speech  ;  when, 
beckoning  her  companions,  she  hastily  withdrew,  having 
first  made  a  small  present  to  the  woman  of  the  cottage, 
and  requested  her  not  to  mention  their  having  called. 

"  What  becomes  now  of  the  comparative  charity  of  your 
brother  and  Mr.  Denbigh,  Emily?."  asked  Mrs.  Wilson,  as 
they  gained  the  road  on  their  return  homewards.  Emily 
was  not  accustomed  to  hear  any  act  of  John  lightly  spoken 
of  without  at  least  manifesting  some  emotion  which  be- 
trayed her  sisterly  regard  ;  but  on  the  present  occasion  she 
chose  to  be  silent  ;  while  Grace,  after  waiting  in  expecta- 
tion that  her  cousin  would  speak,  ventured  to  say  timidly — • 

"  I  am  sure,  dear  madam,  Mr.  Moseley  was  very  liberal, 
and  the  tears  were  in  his  eyes  while  he  gave  the  money.  I 
was  looking  directly  at  them  the  whole  time." 

"John  is  compassionate  by  nature,"  continued  Mrs.  Wilson, 
with  an  almost  imperceptible  smile.  "  I  have  no  doubt  his 
sympathies  were  warmly  enlisted  in  behalf  of  this  family  ; 
and  possessing  much,  he  gave  liberally.  I  have  no  doubt 
he  would  have  undergone  personal  privation  to  have  re- 
lieved their  distress,  and  endured  both  pain  and  labor  with 
such  an  excitement  before  him.  But  what  is  all  that  to 
the  charity  of  Mr.  Denbigh  ? " 

Grace  was  unused  to  contend,  and,  least  of  all,  with  Mrs. 
Wilson  ;  but,  unwilling  to  abandon  John  to  such  censure, 
with  increased  animation,  she  said — 

"  If  bestowing  freely,  and  feeling  for  the  distress  you  re- 
lieve, be  not  commendable,  madam,  I  am  sure  I  am  ignorant 
what  is." 

"That  compassion  for  the  woes  of  others  is  beautiful  in 
itself,  and  the  want  of  it  an  invariable  evidence  of  corrup- 
tion from  too  much,  and  an  ill-governed  intercourse  with 
the  world,  I  am  willing  to  acknowledge,  my  dear  Grace," 
said  Mrs.  Wilson,  kindly  ;  "  but  the  relief  of  misery,  where 
the  heart  has  not  undergone  this  hardening  ordeal,  is  only 
a  relief  to  our  own  feelings  ;  this  is  compassion  ;  but  Chris- 
tian charity  is  a  higher  order  of  duty  ;  it  enters  into  every 
sensation  of  the  heart  ;  disposes  us  to  judge  as  well  as  to 
act  favorably  to  our  fellow-creatures  ;  is  deeply  seated  in 
the  sense  of  our  own  unworthiness  ;  keeps  a  single  eye,  in 
its  dispensations  of  temporal  benefits,  to  the  everlasting 
happiness  of  the  objects  of  its  bounty  ;  is  consistent,  well- 
regulated  ;  in  short,"  and  Mrs.  Wilson's  pale  cheek  glowed 
with  an  unusual  richness  of  color — "it  is  an  humble  at- 


98  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

tempt  to  copy  after  the  heavenly  example  of  our  Redeem- 
er,  in  sacrificing  ourselves  to  the  welfare  of  others,  and 
does  and  must  proceed  from  a  love  of  his  person,  and  an 
obedience  to  his  mandates." 

"And  Mr.  Denbigh,  aunt,"  exclaimed  Emily,  the  blood 
mantling  to  her  cheek  with  a  sympathetic  glow,  while  she 
lost  all  consideration  for  John  in  the  strength  of  her  feel- 
ings, "his  charity  you  think  to  be  of  this  description  ?  " 

"  So  far,  my  child,  as  we  can  understand  motives  from 
the  nature  of  the  conduct,  such  appears  to  have  been  the 
charity  of  Mr.  Denbigh." 

Grace  was  silenced,  if  not  convinced  ;  and  the  ladies 
continued  their  walk,  lost  in  their  own  reflections,  until 
they  reached  a  bend  in  the  road  which  hid  the  cottage  from 
view.  Emily  involuntarily  turned  her  head  as  they  arrived 
at  the  spot,  and  saw  that  Denbigh  had  approached  within 
a  few  paces  of  them.  On  joining  them,  he  commenced  his 
complimentary  address  in  such  a  way  as  convinced  them 
the  cottager  had  been  true  to  the  injunction  given  by  Mrs. 
"Wilson.  No  mention  was  made  of  the  gardener,  and  Den- 
bigh began  a  lively  description  of  some  foreign  scenery,  of 
which  their  present  situation  reminded  him.  The  dis- 
course was  maintained  with  great  interest,  by  himself  and 
Mrs.  Wilson,  for  the  remainder  of  their  walk. 

It  was  yet  early  when  they  reached  the  parsonage,  where 
they  found  John,  who  had  driven  to  the  Hall  to  breakfast, 
and  who,  instead  of  pursuing  his  favorite  amusement  of 
shooting,  laid  down  his  gun  as  they  entered,  observing: 
4<  It  is  rather  soon  yet  for  the  woodcocks,  and  I  believe  I 
will  listen  to  your  entertaining  conversation,  ladies,  for  the 
rest  of  the  morning."  He  threw  himself  upon  a  sofa  at 
no  great  distance  from  Grace,  and  in  such  a  position  as 
enabled  him,  without  rudeness,  to  study  the  features  of 
her  lovely  face,  while  Denbigh  read  aloud  to  the  ladies 
Campbell's  beautiful  description  of  wedded  love,  in  Ger- 
trude of  Wyoming. 

There  was  a  chastened  correctness  in  the  ordinary  man- 
ner of  Denbigh  which  wore  the  appearance  of  the  in- 
fluence of  his  reason,  and  a  subjection  of  the  passions, 
that,  if  anything,  gave  him  less  interest  with  Emily  than 
had  it  been  marked  by  an  evidence  of  stronger  feeling. 
But  on  the  present  occasion  this  objection  was  removed  ; 
his  reading  was  impressive  ;  he  dwelt  on  those  passages 
which  most  pleased  him  with  a  warmth  of  eulogium  fully 
equal  to  her  own  undisguised  sensations.  In  the  houl 


PR  EC  A  UTION~. 


99 


occupied  in  the  reading  this  exquisite  little  poem,  and  in 
commenting  on  its  merits  and  sentiments,  Denbigh  gained 
more  on  her  imagination  than  in  all  their  former  inter 
course.  His  ideas  were  as  pure,  as  chastened,  and  almost 
as  vivid  as  those  of  the  poet  ;  and  Emily  listened  to  his 
periods  with  intense  attention,  as  they  flowed  from  him  in 
language  as  glowing  as  his  ideas.  The  poem  had  been 
first  read  to  her  by  her  brother,  and  she  was  surprised  to 
discover  how  she  had  overlooked  its  beauties  on  that 
occasion.  Even  John  acknowledged  that  it  certainly  ap- 
peared a  different  thing  now  from  what  lie  had  then 
thought  it  ;  but  Emily  had  taxed  his  declamatory  power 
in  the  height  of  the  pleasant  season,  and,  somehow  or 
other,  John  now  imagined  that  Gertrude  was  just  such  a 
delicate,  feminine,  warm-hearted,  domestic  girl  as  Grace 
Chatterton.  As  Denbigh  closed  the  book,  and  entered 
into  a  general  conversation  with  Clara  and  her  sister,  John 
followed  Grace  to  a  window,  and  speaking  in  atone  of  un- 
usual softness  for  him,  he  said — 

"Do  you  know,  Miss  Chatterton,  I  have  accepted  your 
brother's  invitation  to  go  into  Suffolk  this  summer,  and 
that  you  are  to  be  plagued  with  me  and  my  pointers 
again  ? " 

"  Plagued,  Mr.  Moseley  !  "  said  Grace,  in  a  voice  even 
softer  than  his  own.  "I  am  sure — I  am  sure,  we  none  of 
us  think  you  or  your  dogs  in  the  least  a  plague." 

"  Ah  !  Grace,"  and  John  was  about  to  become  what  he 
had  never  been  before — sentimental — when  he  saw  the 
carriage  of  Chatterton,  containing  the  dowager  and  Cathe- 
rine, entering  the  parsonage  gates. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  thought  John,  "  there  comes  Mother  Chatter- 
ton."  "Ah!  Grace,"  said  John,  "  there  are  your  mother 
and  sister  returned  already." 

"Already !  "  said  the  young  lady,  and,  for  the  first  time 
hi  her  life,  she  felt  rather  unlike  a  dutiful  child.  Five 
minutes  could  have  made  no  great  difference  to  her  mother, 
and  she  would  greatly  have  liked  to  hear  what  John  Mose- 
ley meant  to  have  said  ;  for  the  alteration  in  his  manner 
convinced  her  that  his  first  "ah  !  Grace  "  was  to  have  been 
continued  in  a  somewhat  different  language  from  that  in 
which  the  second  "ah  !  Grace  ! "  was  ended. 

Young  Moseley  and  her  daughter,  standing  together  at 
the  open  window,  caught  the  attention  of  Lady  Chatterton 
the  moment  she  got  a  view  of  the  house,  and  she  entered 
with  a  good  humor  she  had  not  felt  since  the  disappoint' 


loo  PRECA  UTION. 

nient  in  her  late  expedition  in  behalf  of  Catherine  ;  foi 
the  gentleman  she  had  had  in  view  in  this  excursion  had 
been  taken  up  by  another  rover,  acting  on  her  own  ac- 
count, and  backed  by  a  little  more  wit  and  a  good  deal 
more  money  than  what  Kate  could  be  fairly  thought  to 
possess.  Nothing  further  in  that  quarter  offering  in  the 
way  of  her  occupation,  she  turned  her  horses'  heads  toward 
London,  that  great  theatre  on  which  there  never  was  a  loss 
for  actors.  The  salutations  had  hardly  passed  before, 
turning  to  John,  she  exclaimed,  with  what  she  intended 
for  a  most  motherly  smile,  "  What !  not  shooting  this  fine 
day,  Mr.  Moseley  ?  I  thought  you  never  missed  a  day  in 
the  season." 

"It  is  rather  early  yet,  my  lady,"  said  John,  coolly,  a 
little  alarmed  by  the  expression  of  her  countenance. 

"  Oh  ! "  continued  the  dowager,  in  the  same  strain,  "  I 
see  how  it  is  ;  the  ladies  have  too  many  attractions  for  so 
gallant  a  young  man  as  yourself."  Now  as  Grace,  her 
own  daughter,  was  the  only  lady  of  the  party  who  could 
reasonably  be  supposed  to  have  much  influence  over  John's 
movements — a  young  gentleman  seldom  caring  as  much  for 
his  own  as  for  other  people's  sisters,  this  may  be  fairly  set 
down  as  a  pretty  broad  hint  of  the  opinion  the  dowager 
entertained  of  the  real  state  of  things  ;  and  John  saw  it  and 
Grace  saw  it.  The  former  coolly  replied,  "  Why,  upon 
the  whole,  if  you  will  excuse  the  neglect,  I  will  try  a  shot 
this  fine  day."  In  five  minutes,  Carlo  and  Rover  were  both 
delighted.  Grace  kept  her  place  at  the  window,  from  a 
feeling  she  could  not  define,  and  of  which  perhaps  she 
was  unconscious,  until  the  gate  closed,  and  the  shrubbery 
hid  the  sportsman  from  her  sight,  and  then  she  withdrew 
to  her  room  to  weep. 

Had  Grace  Chatterton  been  a  particle  less  delicate — less 
retiring — blessed  with  a  managing  mother,  as  she  was, 
John  Moseley  would  not  have  thought  another  moment 
about  her.  But,  on  every  occasion  when  the  dowager 
made  any  of  her  open  attacks,  Grace  discovered  so  much 
distress,  so  much  unwillingness  to  second  them,  that  a 
suspicion  of  a  confederacy  never  entered  his  brain.  It  is 
not  to  be  supposed  that  Lady  Chatterton's  manoeuvres 
were  limited  to  the  direct  and  palpable  schemes  we  have 
mentioned  ;  no — these  were  the  effervescence,  the  exuber- 
ance of  her  zeal  ;  but  as  is  generally  the  case,  they  suf- 
ficiently proved  the  groundwork  of  all  her  other  machina- 
tions ;  none  of  the  little  artifices  of  such  as  placing — of 


PRECA  UTION.  101 

leaving  alone — of  showing  similarity  of  tastes — of  compli- 
ments  to  the  gentlemen,  were  neglected.  This  latter  busi- 
ness she  had  contrived  to  get  Catherine  to  take  off  her 
hands  ;  but  Grace  could  never  pay  a  compliment  in  her 
life,  unless  changing  of  color,  trembling,  undulations  of 
the  bosom,  and  such  natural  movements  can  be  so  called  ; 
but  she  loved  dearly  to  receive  them  from  John  Moseley. 

"  Well,  my  child,"  said  the  mother,  as  she  seated  herself 
by  the  side  of  her  daughter,  who  hastily  endeavored  to 
conceal  her  tears,  "  when  are  we  to  have  another  wedding  ? 
I  trust  everything  is  settled  between  you  and  Mr.  Moseley, 
by  this  time." 

"  Mother  ?  mother  !  "  said  Grace,  nearly  gasping  for 
breath,  "  mother,  you  will  break  my  heart,  indeed  you  will." 
She  hid  her  face  in  the  clothes  of  the  bed  by  which  she 
sat,  and  wept  with  a  feeling  of  despair. 

"  Tut,  my  dear,"  replied  the  dowager,  not  noticing  her 
anguish,  or  mistaking  it  for  a  girlish  shame,  "  you  young 
people  are  fools  in  these  matters,  but  Sir  Edward  and  my- 
self will  arrange  everything  as  it  should  be." 

The  daughter  now  not  only  looked  up,  but  sprang  from 
her  seat,  her  hands  clasped  together,  her  eyes  fixed  in 
horror,  her  cheek  pale  as  death  ;  but  the  mother  had  re- 
tired, and  Grace  sank  back  into  her  chair  with  a  sensation 
of  disgrace,  of  despair,  which  could  not  have  been  sur- 
passed, had  she  really  merited  the  obloquy  and  shame 
which  she  thought  were  about  to  be  heaped  upon  her. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  succeeding  morning,  the  whole  party,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Denbigh,  returned  to  the  Hall.  Nothing  had 
occurred  out  of  the  ordinary  course  of  the  colonel's  assi- 
duities ;  and  Jane,  whose  sense  of  propriety  forbade  the 
indulgence  of  premeditated  tete-a-tetesy  and  such  little  ac- 
companiments of  every-day  attachments,  was  rejoiced  tc. 
see  a  sister  she  loved,  and  an  aunt  she  respected,  onc& 
more  in  the  bosom  of  her  family. 

The  dowager  impatiently  waited  an  opportunity  to  effect, 
what  she  intended  for  a  master-stroke  of  policy  in  the  dis- 
posal of  Grace.  Like  all  other  managers,  she  thought  nc 
one  equal  to  herself  in  devising  ways  and  means,  and  was 
unwilling  to  leave  anything  to  nature.  Grace  had  invari- 


102  PRECA  UT1ON. 

ably  thwarted  all  her  schemes  by  her  obstinacy ;  and  ai 
she  thought  young  Moseley  really  attached  to  her,  she  de- 
termined by  a  bold  stroke  to  remove  the  impediments  of 
false  shame,  and  the  dread  of  repulse,  which  she  believed 
alone  kept  the  youth  from  an  avowal  of  his  wishes,  and  get 
rid  at  once  of  a  plague  that  had  annoyed  her  not  a  little — 
her  daughter's  delicacy. 

Sir  Edward  spent  an  hour  every  morning  in  his  library, 
overlooking  his  accounts,  and  in  other  necessary  employ- 
ments of  a  similar  nature,  and  it  was  here  she  determined 
to  have  the  conference. 

"  My  Lady  Chatterton,  you  do  me  honor,"  said  the 
baronet,  handing  her  a  chair  on  her  entrance. 

"  Upon  my  word,  cousin,"  cried  the  dowager,  "  you  have 
a  very  convenient  apartment  here,"  looking  around  her  in 
affected  admiration  of  all  she  saw. 

The  baronet  replied,  and  a  short  discourse  on  the  ar- 
rangements of  the  whole  house  insensibly  led  to  some 
remarks  on  the  taste  of  his  mother,  the  honorable  Lady 
Moseley  (a  Chatterton),  until,  having  warmed  the  feelings 
of  the  old  gentleman  by  some  well-timed  compliments  of 
that  nature,  she  ventured  on  the  principal  object  of  her 
visit. 

"  I  am  happy  to  find,  Sir  Edward,  you  are  so  well  pleased 
with  the  family  as  to  wish  to  make  another  selection  from 
it.  I  sincerely  hope  it  may  prove  as  judicious  as  the  for- 
mer one." 

Sir  Edward  was  a  little  at  a  loss  to  understand  her  mean- 
ing, although  he  thought  it  might  allude  to  his  son,  who  he 
had  some  time  suspected  had  views  on  Grace  Chatterton  ; 
and  willing  to  know  the  truth,  and  rather  pleased  to  find 
John  had  selected  a  young  woman  he  loved  in  his  heart, 
he  observed — 

"  I  am  not  sure  I  rightly  understand  your  ladyship, 
though  I  hope  I  do." 

"  No  !"  cried  the  dowager,  in  well-counterfeited  affecta- 
tion of  surprise.  "  Perhaps,  after  all,  maternal  anxiety 
has  deceived  me,  then.  Mr.  Moseley  could  hardly  have 
ventured  to  proceed  without  your  approbation." 

"  I  have  ever  declined  influencing  any  of  my  children, 
Lady  Chatterton,"  said  the  baronet,  "  and  John  is  not 
ignorant  of  my  sentiments.  I  sincerely  hope,  however, 
you  allude  to  an  attachment  to  Grace  ?" 

"  I  did,  certainly,  Sir  Edward,"  said  the  lady,  hesitat- 
ingly. "  J  may  be  deceived  ;  but  you  must  understand  the 


PRECAUTION 


103 


feelings  of  a  mother,  and  a  young  woman  ought  not  to  be 
trifled  with." 

"  My  son  is  incapable  of  trifling,  I  hope,"  cried  Sir 
Edward,  with  animation,  "  and,  least  of  all,  with  Grace 
Chatterton.  No  ;  you  are  quite  right.  If  he  has  made  his 
choice,  he  should  not  be  ashamed  to  avow  it." 

"  I  would  not  wish,  on  any  account,  to  hurry  matters," 
said  the  dowager  ;  "  but  the  report  which  is  abroad  will 
prevent  other  young  men  from  putting  in  their  claims,  Sir 
Edward "  (sighing).  "  I  have  a  mother's  feelings  ;  if  I 
have  been  hasty,  your  goodness  will  overlook  it."  And 
Lady  Chatterton  placed  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  to 
conceal  the  tears  that  did  not  flow. 

Sir  Edward  thought  all  this  very  natural,  and  as  it 
should  be,  and  he  sought  an  early  conference  with  his 
son. 

"John,"  said  the  father,  taking  his  hand  kindly,  "you 
have  no  reason  to  doubt  my  affection  or  my  compliance  to 
your  wishes.  Fortune  is  a  thing  out  of  the  question  with  a 
young  man  of  your  expectations."  And  Sir  Edward,  in  his 
eagerness  to  smooth  the  way,  went  on:  "You  can  live 
here,  or  occupy  my  small  seat  at  Wiltshire.  I  can  allow 
you  five  thousand  a  year,  with  much  ease  to  myself.  In- 
deed, your  mother  and  myself  would  both  straiten  our- 
selves, to  add  to  your  comforts  ;  but  it  is  unnecessary — we 
have  enough,  and  you  have  enough." 

Sir  Edward,  in  a  few  moments,  would  have  settled  every, 
thing  to  the  dowager's  perfect  satisfaction,  had  not  John 
interrupted  him  by  the  exclamation  of — 

"  To  what  do  you  allude,  father  ?" 

"Allude?"  said  Sir  Edward,  simply.  "Why,  Grace 
Chatterton,  my  son." 

"  Grace  Chatterton  !  Sir  Edward.  What  have  I  to  do 
with  Grace  Chatterton  ?" 

"  Her  mother  has  made  me  acquainted  with  your  pro- 
posals, and  " 

"  Proposals ! " 

"Attentions,  I  ought  to  have  said  ;  and  you  have  no 
reason  to  apprehend  anything  from  me,  my  child." 

"  Attentions  !  "  said  John,  haughtily.  "  I  hope  Lady 
Chatterton  does  not  accuse  me  of  improper  attentions  to 
her  daughter  ? " 

"No,  not  improper,  my  son,"  said  his  father :  "on  the 
contrary,  she  is  much  pleased  with  them." 

"  She  is,  is  she  ?     But  I  am  displeased  that  she  should 


104  PRECA  UTION. 

undertake  to  put  constructions  on  my  acts  that  no  atter* 
tion  or  words  of  mine  will  justify." 

It  was  now  Sir  Edward's  turn  to  be  surprised.  He  had 
thought  he  was  doing  his  son  a  kindness,  when  he  had 
only  been  forwarding  the  dowager's  schemes  ;  but  averse 
from  contention,  and  wondering  at  his  cousin's  mistake, 
which  he  at  once  attributed  to  her  anxiety  in  behalf  of  a 
favorite  daughter,  he  told  John  he  was  sorry  there  had 
been  any  misapprehension,  and  left  him. 

"No,  no,"  said  Moseley,  internally,  as  he  paced  up  and 
down  his  father's  library,  "  my  lady  dowager,  you  are  not 
going  to  force  a  wife  down  my  throat  If  you  do,  I  am 
mistaken  ;  and  Grace,  if  Grace  " — John  softened  and  be- 
gan to  feel  unhappy  a  little,  but  anger  prevailed. 

From  the  moment  Grace  Chatterton  conceived  a  dread 
of  her  mother's  saying  anything  to  Sir  Edward,  her  whole 
conduct  was  altered.  She  could  hardly  look  any  of  the 
family  in  the  face,  and  it  was  her  most  ardent  wish  that 
they  might  depart.  John  she  avoided  as  she  would  an  ad- 
ier,  though  it  nearly  broke  her  heart  to  do  so. 

Mr.  Benfield  had  staid  longer  than  usual,  and  he  now 
wished  to  return.  John  Moseley  eagerly  profited  by  this 
opportunity,  and  the  very  day  after  the  conversation  in  the 
library  he  went  to  Benfield  Lodge  as  a  dutiful  nephew,  to 
see  his  venerable  uncle  safely  restored  once  more  to  the 
abode  of  his  ancestors. 

Lady  Chatterton  now  perceived,  when  too  late,  that  she 
had  overshot  her  mark,  while  at  the  same  time,  she  won- 
dered at  the  reason  of  a  result  so  strange  from  such  well- 
digested  and  well-conducted  plans.  She  determined,  how- 
ever, never  again  to  interfere  between  her  daughter  and 
the  baronet's  heir  ;  concluding  with  a  nearer  approach  to 
the  truth  than  always  accompanied  her  deductions,  that 
they  resembled  ordinary  lovers  in  neither  their  tempera- 
ments nor  opinions. 

Perceiving  no  further  use  in  remaining  any  longer  at  the 
Hall,  she  took  her  leave,  and  accompanied  by  both  her 
daughters,  proceeded  to  the  capital,  where  she  expected 
to  meet  her  son. 

Dr.  Ives  and  his  wife  returned  to  the  rectory  on  the  same 
day,  and  Denbigh  immediately  resumed  his  abode  under 
their  roof.  The  intercourse  between  the  rector's  family 
and  Sir  Edward's  was  renewed  with  all  its  former  friendly 
confidence. 

Colonel   Egerton  began  to  speak  of  his  departure  also, 


PR  EC  A  UT2ON.  105 

but  hinted  at  intentions  of  visiting  L at  the  period 

of  the  baronet's  visit  to  his  uncle,  before  he  proceeded  to 
town  in  the  winter. 

L—  -  was  a  small  village  on  the  coast,  within  a  mile 
of  Benfield  Lodge  ;  and  from  its  natural  convenience,  it 
had  long  been  resorted  to  by  the  neighboring  gentry  for 
the  benefit  of  sea-bathing.  The  baronet  had  promised 
Mr.  Benfield  his  visit  should  be  made  at  an  earlier  day 
than  usual,  in  order  to  gratify  Jane  with  a  visit  to  Bath, 
before  they  went  to  London,  at  which  town  thev  were 
promised  by  Mrs.  Jarvis  the  pleasure  of  her  society,  and 
that  of  her  son  and  daughters. 

PRECAUTION  is  a  word  of  simple  meaning  in  itself,  but 
Various  are  the  ways  adopted  by  different  individuals  in 
this  life  to  enforce  its  import  ;  and  not  a  few  are  the  evils 
which  it  is  thought  necessary  to  guard  against.  To  pro- 
vide in  season  against  the  dangers  of  want,  personal  in- 
jury, loss  of  character,  and  a  great  many  other  such 
acknowledged  misfortunes,  has  become  a  kind  of  instinct- 
ive process  of  our  natures.  The  few  exceptions  which 
exist  only  go  to  prove  the  rule  :  in  addition  to  these,  al- 
most every  man  has  some  ruling  propensity  to  gratify,  to 
advance  which  his  ingenuity  is  ever  on  the  alert,  or  some 
apprehended  evil  to  avert,  which  calls  all  his  prudence  into 
activity.  Yet  how  seldom  is  it  exerted,  in  order  to  give  a 
rational  ground  to  expect  permanent  happiness  in  wed- 
lock. 

Marriage  is  called  a  lottery,  and  it  is  thought,  like  all 
other  lotteries,  there  are  more  blanks  than  prizes  ;  yet  is 
it  not  made  more  precarious  than  it  ought  to  be,  by  our 
neglect  of  that  degree  of  precaution  which  we  would  be 
ridiculed  for  omitting  in  conducting  our  every-day  con- 
cerns? Is  not  the  standard  of  matrimonial  felicity  placed 
too  low  ?  Ought  we  not  to  look  more  to  the  possession  of 
principles  than  to  the  possession  of  wealth  ?  Or  is  it  at 
all  justifiable  in  a  Christian  to  commit  a  child,  a  daughter, 
to  the  keeping  of  a  man  who  wants  the  very  essential  they 
acknowledge  most  necessary  to  constitute  a  perfect  char- 
acter ?  Most  men  revolt  at  infidelity  in  a  woman,  and 
most  men,  however  licentious  themselves,  look  for  at  least 
the  exterior  of  religion  in  their  wives.  The  education  of 
their  children  is  a  serious  responsibility  ;  and  although 
seldom  conducted  on  such  rules  as  will  stand  the  test  of 
reason,  it  is  not  to  be  entirely  shaken  off:  they  choose 
their  early  impressions  should  be  correct,  their  infant  con- 


106  PR  EC  A  UTJON. 

duct  at  least  blameless.  And  are  not  one-half  mankind  of 
the  male  sex  ?  Are  precepts  in  religion,  in  morals,  only 
for  females  ?  Are  we  to  reverse  the  theory  of  the  Moham- 
medans, and  though  we  do  not  believe  it,  act  as  if  men  had 
no  souls  ?  Is  not  the  example  of  the  father  as  important 
to  the  son  as  that  of  the  mother  to  the  daughter  ?  In  short, 
is  there  any  security  against  the  commission  of  enormities, 
but  an  humble  and  devout  dependence  on  the  assistance 
of  that  Almighty  Power,  which  alone  is  able  to  hold  us  up 
against  temptation  ? 

Uniformity  of  taste  is  no  doubt  necessary  to  what  we  call 
love,  but  is  not  taste  acquired  ?  Would  our  daughters  ad- 
mire a  handsome  deist,  if  properly  impressed  with  a  horror 
of  his  doctrines,  sooner  than  they  now  would  admire  a 
handsome  Mohammedan  ?  We  would  refuse  our  children 
to  a  pious  dissenter,  to  give  them  to  impious  members  of 
the  establishment :  we  make  the  substance  less  than  the 
shadow. 

Our  principal  characters  are  possessed  of  these  diversi- 
fied views  of  the  evils  to  be  averted.  Mrs.  Wilson  con- 
siders Christianity  an  indispensable  requisite  in  the 
husband  to  be  permitted  to  her  charge,  and  watches  against 
the  possibility  of  any  other  than  a  Christian's  gaining  the 
affections  of  Emily.  Lady  Chatterton  considers  the  want 
of  an  establishment  as  the  unpardonable  sin,  and  directs 
her  energies  to  prevent  this  evil  ;  while  John  Moseley  looks 
upon  a  free  will  as  a  birthright  of  an  Englishman,  and  is, 
at  the  present  moment,  anxiously  alive  to  prevent  the 
dowager's  making  him  the  husband  of  Grace,  the  thing  of 
all  others  he  most  strenuously  desires. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

JOHN  MOSELEY  returned  from  L within  a  week,  and 

appeared  as  if  his  whole  delight  consisted  in  knocking 
over  the  inoffensive  birds.  His  restlessness  induced  him 
to  make  Jarvis  his  companion  ;  for  although  he  abhorred 
the  captain's  style  of  pursuing  the  sport,  being  in  his 
opinion  both  out  of  rule  and  without  taste,  yet  he  was  a 
constitutional  fidget,  and  suited  his  own  moving  propen- 
sities at  the  moment.  Egerton  and  Denbigh  were  both 
frenuently  at  the  Hall,  but  generally  gave  their  time  to 


PKE  CA  I T7 7 O Ar.  107 

the  ladies,  neither  being   much   inclined  to  the  favorite 
amusement  of  John. 

There  was  a  little  arbor  within  the  walls  of  the  park, 
which  for  years  had  been  a  retreat  from  the  summer  heats 
to  the  ladies  of  the  Moseley  family  ;  even  so  long  ago  as 
the  youth  of  Mrs.  Wilson,  it  had  been  in  vogue,  and  she 
loved  it  with  a  kind  of  melancholy  pleasure,  as  the  spot 
where  she  had  first  listened  to  the  language  of  love  from 
the  lips  of  her  late  husband.  Into  this  arbor  the  ladies 
had  one  day  retired,  during  the  warmth  of  a  noonday  sun, 
with  the  exception  of  Lady  Moseley,  who  had  her  own  en- 
gagement in  the  house.  Between  Egerton  and  Denbigh 
there  was  maintained  a  kind  of  courtly  intercourse,  which 
prevented  any  disagreeable  collision  from  their  evident 
dislike.  Mrs.  Wilson  thought,  on  the  part  of  Denbigh,  it 
was  the  forbearance  of  a  principled  indulgence  to  anoth- 
er's weakness  ;  while  the  colonel's  otherwise  uniform  good 
breeding  was  hardly  able  to  conceal  something  amounting 
to  very  near  repugnance.  Egerton  had  taken  his  seat  on 
the  ground,  near  the  feet  of  Jane  ;  and  Denbigh  was  sta- 
tioned on  a  bench  placed  without  the  arbor,  but  so  near 
as  to  have  the  full  benefit  of  the  shade  of  the  noble  oak, 
branches  of  which  had  been  trained  so  as  to  compose  its 
principal  covering.  It  might  have  been  accident  that  gave 
each  his  particular  situation  ;  but  it  is  certain  that  they 
were  so  placed  as  not  to  be  in  sight  of  each  other,  and  so 
placed  that  the  colonel  was  ready  to  hand  Jane  her  scis- 
sors, or  any  other  little  implement  that  she  occasionally 
dropped,  and  that  Denbigh  could  read  every  lineament  of 
the  animated  countenance  of  Emily  as  she  listened  to  his 
description  of  the  curiosities  of  Egypt,  a  country  in  which 
he  had  spent  a  few  months  while  attached  to  the  army  in 
Sicily.  In  this  situation  we  will  leave  them  for  an  hour, 
happy  in  the  society  of  each  other,  while  we  trace  the 
route  of  John  Moseley  and  his  companion,  in  their  pursuit 
of  woodcock,  on  the  same  day. 

"Do  you  know,  Moseley,"  said  jarvis,  who  began  to 
think  he  was  a  favorite  with  John,  now  that  he  was  ad- 
mitted to  his  menus plaisirs,  "  that  I  have  taken  it  into  my 
head  this  Mr.  Denbigh  was  very  happy  to  plead  his  morals 
for  not  meeting  me.  He  is  a  soldier,  but  I  cannot  find  out 
what  battles  he  has  been  in." 

"  Captain  Jarvis,"  said  John,  coolly,  "  the  less  you  say 
about  that  business  the  better.  Call  in  Rover." 

Now,  another  of  Jarvis's  recommendations  was  a  set  of 


io8  PRECA  UTJO.V. 

lungs  that  might  have  been  heard  half  a  mile  with  great 
ease  on  a  still  morning. 

"Why,"  said  Jarvis,  rather  humbly,  "I  am  sensible,  Mr. 
Moseley,  I  was  very  wrong  as  regards  your  sister  ;  but  don't 
you  think  it  a  little  odd  in  a  soldier  not  to  fight  when 
properly  called  upon  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Denbigh  did  not  think  himself  properly 
called  upon,  or  perhaps  he  had  heard  what  a  great  shot 
you  were." 

Six  months  before  his  appearance  in  B ,  Captain 

Jarvis  had  been  a  clerk  in  the  counting-room  of  Jarvis, 
Baxter  &  Co.,  and  had  never  held  fire-arms  of  any  kind 
in  his  hand,  with  the  exception  of  an  old  blunderbuss,  which 
had  been  a  kind  of  sentinel  over  the  iron  chest  for  years. 
On  mounting  the  cockade,  he  had  taken  up  shooting  as  a 
martial  exercise,  inasmuch  as  the  burning  of  gunpowder 
was  an  attendant  of  the  recreation.  He  had  never  killed 
but  one  bird  in  his  life,  and  that  was  an  owl,  of  which  he 
took  the  advantage  of  daylight  and  his  stocking  feet  to 
knock  off  a  tree  in  the  Deanery  grounds,  very  early  after 
his  arrival.  In  his  trials  with  John,  he  sometimes  pulled 
trigger  at  the  same  moment  with  his  companion  ;  and  as 
the  bird  generally  fell,  he  thought  he  had  an  equal  claim 
to  the  honor.  He  was  fond  of  warring  with  crows  and 
birds  of  the  larger  sort,  and  invariably  went  provided  with 
small  balls  fitted  to  the  bore  of  his  fowling-piece  for  such 
accidental  rencontres.  He  had  another  habit,  which  was 
not  a  little  annoying  to  John,  who  had  several  times  tried 
in  vain  to  break  him  of  it — that  of  shooting  at  marks.  If 
birds  were  not  plenty,  he  would  throw  up  a  chip,  and 
sometimes  his  hat,  by  way  of  shooting  on  the  wing. 

As  the  day  was  excessively  hot,  and  the  game  kept  close, 
John  felt  willing  to  return  from  such  unprofitable  labor. 
The  captain  now  commenced  his  chip  firing,  which  in  a 
few  minutes  was  succeeded  by  his  hat. 

"  See,  Moseley,  see  ;  I  have  hit  the  band,"  cried  the  cap- 
tain, delighted  to  find  that  he  had  at  last  wounded  his  old 
antagonist.  "  I  don't  think  you  can  beat  that,  yourself." 

"  I  am  not  sure  I  can,"  said  John,  slipping  a  handful  of 
gravel  in  the  muzzle  of  his  piece  slyly,  "  but  I  can  do  as 
you  did — try." 

"  Do,"  cried  the  captain,  pleased  to  get  his  companion 
down  to  his,  own  level  of  amusements.  •"  Are  you  ready  ?  * 

"  Yes  ;  throw." 

Jarvis  threw,  and  John  fired.:  the  hat  fairly  bounced. 


PRK  CA  UT1  ON.  109 

"  Have  I  hit  it  ? "  asked  John,  while  reloading  the  barrel 
he  had  discharged. 

"  Hit  it  !"  said  the  captain,  looking  ruefully  at  his  hat. 
"  It  looks  like  a  cullender  ;  but,  Moseley,  your  gun  don't 
scatter  well  ;  a  dozen  shot  have  gone  through  in  the  same 
place." 

"  It  does  look  rather  like  a  cullender,"  said  John,  as  he 
overlooked  his  companion's  beaver,  "and,  by  the  size  of 
some  of  the  holes,  one  that  has  been  a  good  deal  used." 

The  reports  of  the  fowling-pieces  announced  to  the  party 
in  the  arbor  the  return  of  the  sportsmen,  it  being  an  in- 
variable practice  with  John  Moseley  to  discharge  his  gun 
before  he  came  in  ;  and  Jarvis  had  imitated  him,  from  a 
wish  to  be  what  he  called  in  rule. 

"  Mr.  Denbigh,"  said  John,  as  he  put  down  his  gun, 
"  Captain  Jarvis  has  got  the  better  of  his  hat  at  last." 

Denbigh  smiled  without  speaking  ;  and  the  captain,  un- 
willing to  have  anything  to  say  to  a  gentleman  to  whom  he 
had  been  obliged  to  apologize,  went  into  the  arbor  to  show 
the  mangled  condition  of  his  head-piece  to  the  colonel,  on 
whose  sympathies  he  felt  a  kind  of  claim,  being  of  the  same 
corps.  John  complained  of  thirst,  and  went  to  a  little  run 
of  water  but  a  short  distance  from  them,  in  order  to  satisfy 
it.  The  interruption  of  Jarvis  was  particularly  unseason- 
able. Jane  was  relating,  in  a  manner  peculiar  to  herself, 
in  which  was  mingled  that  indefinable  exchange  of  looks 
lovers  are  so  fond  of,  some  incident  of  her  early  life  to  the 
colonel  that  greatly  interested  him.  Knowing  the  captain's 
foibles,  he  pointed,  therefore,  with  his  finger,  as  he  said  : 

"  There  is  one  of  your  old  enemies,  a  hawk." 

Jarvis  threw  down  his  hat,  and  ran  with  a  boyish  eager- 
ness to  drive  away  the  intruder.  In  his  haste,  he  caught 
up  the  gun  of  John  Moseley,  and  loading  it  rapidly,  threw 
in  a  ball  from  his  usual  stock  ;  but  whether  the  hawk  saw 
and  knew  him,  or  whether  it  saw  something  else  it  liked 
better,  it  made  a  dart  for  the  baronet's  poultry-yard  at  no 
great  distance,  and  was  out  of  sight  in  a  minute.  Seeing 
that  his  foe  had  vanished,  the  captain  laid  the  piece  where 
he  had  found  it,  and,  recovering  his  old  train  of  ideas, 
picked  up  his  hat  again. 

"  John,"  said  Emily,  as  she  approached  him  affection- 
ately, "  you  were  too  warm  to  drink." 

"  Stand  off,  sis,"  cried  John,  playfully,  taking  up  the 
gun  from  against  the  body  of  the  tree,  and  dropping  it  to 
ward  her. 


no 


Jarvis  had  endeavored  to  make  an  appeal  to  the  com- 
miseration of  Emily  in  favor  of  the  neglected  beaver,  and 
was  within  a  few  feet  of  them.  At  this  moment,  recoiling 
from  the  muzzle  of  the  gun,  he  exclaimed,  "  It  is  loaded  !  " 
"  Hold  !  "  cried  Denbigh,  in  a  voice  of  horror,  as  he  sprang 
between  John  and  his  sister.  Both  were  too  late  ;  the 
piece  was  discharged.  Denbigh,  turning  to  Emily,  and 
smiling  mournfully,  gazed  for  a  moment  at  her  with  an 
expression  of  tenderness,  of  pleasure,  of  sorrow,  so  blended 
that  she  retained  the  recollection  of  it  for  life,  and  fell  at 
her  feet. 

The  gun  dropped  from  the  nerveless  grasp  of  young 
Moseley.  Emily  sank  in  insensibility  by  the  side  of  her 
preserver.  Mrs.  Wilson  and  Jane  stood  speechless  and 
aghast.  The  colonel  alone  retained  the  presence  of  mind 
necessary  to  devise  the  steps  to  be  immediately  taken,  lie 
sprang  to  the  examination  of  Denbigh  ;  the  eyes  of  the 
wounded  man  were  open,  and  his  recollection  perfect  ;  the 
first  were  fixed  in  intense  observation  on  the'  inanimate 
body  which  lay  at  his  side. 

"  Leave  me,  Colonel  Egerton,"  he  said,  speaking  with  dif- 
ficulty, and  pointing  in  the  direction  of  the  little  run  of  water; 
"  assist  Miss  Moseley  —  your  hat  —  your  hat  will  answer." 

Accustomed  to  scenes  of  blood,  and  not  ignorant  that 
time  and  care  were  the  remedies  to  be  applied  to  the 
wounded  man,  Egerton  flew  to  the  stream,  and  returning 
immediately,  by  the  help  of  her  sister  and  Mrs.  Wilson, 
soon  restored  Emily  to  life.  The  ladies  and  John  had  now 
begun  to  act.  The  tenderest  assiduities  of  Jane  were  de- 
voted to  her  sister  ;  while  Mrs.  Wilson,  observing  her  niece 
to  be  uninjured  by  any  thing  but  the  shock,  assisted  John 
in  supporting  the  wounded  man. 

Denbigh  spoke,  requesting  to  be  carried  to  the  house  ; 
and  Jarvis  was  despatched  for  help.  Within  half  an  hour, 
Denbigh  was  placed  on  a  couch  in  the  house  of  Sir  Edward, 
and  was  quietly  waiting  for  that  professional  aid  which 
could  only  decide  on  his  probable  fate.  The  group  assem- 
bled in  the  room  were  in  fearful  expectation  of  the  arrival 
of  the  surgeons,  in  pursuit  of  whom  messengers  had  been 
sent  both  to  the  barracks  in  F—  -  and  to  the  town  itself. 
Sir  Edward  sat  by  the  side  of  the  sufferer,  holding  one  of 
his  hands  in  his  own,  now  turning  his  tearful  eyes  on  that 
daughter  who  had  so  lately  been  rescued  as  it  were  from 
the  certainty  of  death,  in  mute  gratitude  and  thanksgiving, 
and  now  dwelling  on  the  countenance  of  him  who,  by 


PR  EC  A  UTION.  1 1 1 

bravely  interposing  his  bosom  to  the  blow,  had  incurred 
m  his  own  person  the  imminent  danger  of  a  similar  fate, 
with  a  painful  sense  of  his  perilous  situation,  and  devout 
and  earnest  prayers  for  his  safety.  Emily  was  with  her 
father,  as  with  the  rest  of  his  family,  a  decided  favorite  ; 
and  no  reward  would  have  been  sufficient,  no  gratitude 
lively  enough,  in  the  estimation  of  the  baronet,  to  compen- 
sate the  protector  of  such  a  child.  She  sat  between  her 
mother  and  Jane,  with  a  hand  held  by  each,  pale  and  op- 
pressed with  a  load  of  gratitude,  of  thanksgiving,  of  woe, 
that  almost  bowed  her  to  the  earth.  Lady  Moseley  and 
Jane  were  both  sensibly  touched  with  the  deliverance  of 
Emily,  and  manifested  the  interest  they  took  in  her  by  the 
tenderest  caresses,  while  Mrs.  Wilson  sat  calmly  collected 
within  herself,  occasionally  giving  those  few  directions 
which  were  necessary  under  the  circumstances,  and  offering 
up  her  silent  petitions  in  behalf  of  the  sufferer.  John  had 
taken  horse  immediately  for  F ,  and  Jarvis  had  volun- 
teered to  go  to  the  rectory  and  Bolton.  Denbigh  inquired 
frequently  and  with  much  anxiety  for  Dr.  Ives  ;  but  the  rec- 
tor was  absent  from  home  on  a  visit  to  a  sick  parishioner, 
and  it  was  late  in  the  evening  before  he  arrived.  Within  three 
hours  of  the  accident,  however,  Dr.  Black,  the  surgeon  of 

the th,  reached  the  Hall,  and  immediately  proceeded 

to  examine  the  wound.  The  ball  had  penetrated  the  right 
breast,  and  gone  directly  through  the  body  ;  it  was  ex- 
tracted with  very  little  difficulty,  and  his  attendant  ac- 
quainted the  anxious  friends  of  Denbigh  that  the  heart 
certainly,  and  he -hoped  the  lungs,  had  escaped  uninjured. 
The  ball  was  a  very  small  one,  and  the  principal  danger 
to  be  apprehended  was  from  fever  :  he  had  taken  the  usual 
precautions  against  that,  and,  should  it  not  set  in  with  a 
violence  greater  than  he  apprehended  at  present,  the 
patient  might  be  abroad  within  the  month. 

"  But,"  continued  the  surgeon,  with  the  hardened  in- 
difference of  his  profession,  "the  gentleman  has  had  a  nar- 
row chance  in  the  passage  of  the  ball  itself ;  half  an  inch 
would  have  settled  his  accounts  with  this  world." 

This  information  greatly  relieved  the  family,  and  orders 
were  given  to  preserve  a  silence  in  the  house  that  would 
favor  the  patient's  disposition  to  quiet,  or,  if  possible,  sleep. 

Dr.  Ives  now  reached  the  hall.  Mrs.  Wilson  had  never  seen 
the  rector  in  the  agitation,  or  with  the  want  of  self-command 
he  was  in,  as  she  met  him  at  the  entrance  of  the  house. 

"Is  he  alive? — is  there  hope  ? — where  is  George?"  cried 


112  PKE  CA  UTION*. 

the  doctor,  as  he  caught  the  extended  hand  of  Mrs.  Wilson. 
She  briefly  acquainted  him  with  the  surgeon's  report,  and 
the  reasonable  ground  there  was  to  expect  Denbigh  would 
survive  the  injury. 

"  May  God  be  praised,"  said  the  rector,  in  a  suppressed 
voice,  as  he  hastily  withdrew  into  another  room.  Mrs. 
Wilson  followed  him  slowly  and  in  silence  ;  but  was  checked 
on  opening  the  door  with  the  sight  of  the  rector  on  his 
knees,  the  tears  stealing  down  his  venerable  cheeks  in  quick 
succession.  " Surely,"  thought  the  widow,  as  she  drew  back 
unnoticed,  "  a  youth  capable  of  exciting  such  affection  in 
a  man  like  Dr.  Ives,  cannot  be  unworthy." 

Denbigh,  hearing  of  the  arrival  of  his  friend,  desired  to 
see  him  alone.  Their  conference  was  short,  and  the  rector 
returned  from  it  with  increased  hopes  of  the  termination 
of  this  dreadful  accident.  He  immediately  left  the  Hall 
for  his  own  house,  with  a  promise  of  returning  early  on 
the  following  morning. 

During  the  night,  however,  the  symptoms  became  un- 
favorable ;  and  before  the  return  of  Dr.  Ives,  Denbigh 
was  in  a  state  of  delirium  from  the  height  of  his  fever,  and 
the  apprehensions  of  his  friends  were  renewed  with  ad- 
ditional force. 

"  What,  what,  my  good  sir,  do  you  think  of  him  ?  "  said 
the  baronet  to  the  family  physician,  with  an  emotion  that 
the  danger  of  his  dearest  child  would  not  have  exceeded, 
and  within  hearing  of  most  of  his  children,  who  were  col- 
lected in  the  antechamber  of  the  room  in  which  Denbigh 
was  placed. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  say,  Sir  Edward,"  replied  the  phy- 
sician ;  "  he  refuses  all  medicines,  and  unless  this  fever 
abates,  there  is  but  little  hope  of  recovery." 

Emily  stood  during  this  question  and  answer,  motionless, 
pale  as  death,  and  with  her  hands  clasped  together,  be- 
traying, by  the  workings  of  her  fingers  in  a  kind  of  con- 
vulsive motion,  the  intensity  of  her  interest.  She  had  seen 
the  draught  prepared  which  it  was  so  desirable  that  Den- 
bigh should  take,  and  it  now  stood  rejected  on  a  table,  where 
it  could  be  seen  through  the  open  door  of  his  room.  Almost 
breathless,  she  glided  in,  and  taking  the  draught  in  her  hand, 
she  approached  the  bed,  by  which  sat  John  alone,  listening 
with  a  feeling  of  despair  to  the  wanderings  of  the  sick 
man.  Emily  hesitated  once  or  twice,  as  she  drew  neai 
Denbigh  ;  her  face  had  lost  the  paleness  of  anxiety,  and 
glowed  with  another  emotion. 


PRECA  UTION.  H3 

"  Mr.  Denbigh — dear  Denbigh,"  said  Emily,  with  energy, 
unconsciously  dropping  her  voice  into  the  softest  notes 
of  persuasion,  "will  you  refuse  me? — me,  Emily  Moseley, 
whose  life  you  have  saved  ?  " 

"  Emily  Moseley  !  "  repeated  Denbigh,  and  in  those  tones 
so  remarkable  "to  his  natural  voice.  "  Is  she  safe  ?  I  thought 
she  was  killed — dead."  Then,  as  if  recollecting  himself,  he 
gazed  intently  on  her  countenance — his  eye  became  less 
fiery — his  muscles  relaxed — he  smiled,  and  took,  with  the 
docility  of  a  well-trained  child,  the  prescribed  medicines 
from  her  hand.  His  ideas  still  wandered,  but  his  physician, 
profiting  by  the  command  Emily  possessed  over  his  pa- 
tient, increased  his  care,  and  by  night  the  fever  had  abated, 
and  before  morning  the  wounded  man  was  in  a  profound 
sleep.  During  the  whole  day,  it  was  thought  necessary  to 
keep  Emily  by  the  side  of  his  bed  ;  but  at  times  it  was  no 
trifling  tax  on  her  feelings  to  remain  there.  He  spoke  of 
her  by  name  in  the  tenderest  manner,  although  incohe- 
rently, and  in  terms  that  restored  to  the  blanched  cheeks 
of  the  distressed  girl  more  than  the  richness  of  their  native 
color.  His  thoughts  were  not  confined  to  Emily,  however  ; 
he  talked  of  his  father,  of  his  mother,  and  frequently  spoke 
of  his  poor  deserted  Marian.  The  latter  name  he  dwelt 
on  in  the  language  of  the  warmest  affection,  condemned 
his  own  desertion  of  her,  and,  taking  Emily  for  her,  would 
beg  her  forgiveness,  tell  her  her  sufferings  had  been 
enough,  and  that  he  would  return,  and  never  leave  her 
again.  At  such  moments  his  nurse  would  sometimes  show, 
by  the  paleness  of  her  cheeks,  her  anxiety  for  his  health  ; 
and  then,  as  he  addressed  her  by  her  proper  appellation, 
all  her  emotions  appeared  absorbed  in  the  sense  of  shame 
at  the  praises  with  which  he  overwhelmed  her.  Mrs. Wilson 
succeeded  her  in  the  charge  of  the  patient,  and  she  retired 
to  seek  that  repose  she  so  greatly  needed. 

On  the  second  morning  after  receiving  the  wound,  Den- 
bigh dropped  into  a  deep  sleep,  from  which  he  awoke  re- 
freshed and  perfectly  collected  in  mind.  The  fever  had 
left  him,  and  his  attendants  pronounced,  with  the  usual 
cautions,  to  prevent  a  relapse,  his  recovery  certain.  It 
were  impossible  to  have  communicated  any  intelligence 
more  grateful  to  all  the  members  of  the  Moseley  family  ; 
for  Jane  had  even  lost  sight  of  her  own  lover,  in  sympathy 
for  the  fate  of  a  man  who  had  sacrificed  himself  to  save 
her  beloved  sister. 


,14  PRECAUTION. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  recovery  of  Denbigh  was  as  rapid  as  the  most  sa«« 
guine  expectation  of  his  friends  could  hope  for,  and  in  ten 
days  he  left  his  bed,  and  would  sit  an  hour  or  two  at  a  time 
in  his  dressing-room,  where  Mrs.  Wilson,  accompanied  by 
Jane  or  Emily,  came  and  read  to  him  ;  and  it  was  a  remark 
of  Sir  Edward's  gamekeeper,  that  the  woodcocks  had  be- 
come so  tame  during  the  time  Mr.  Moseley  was  shut  up  in 
attendance  on  his  friend,  that  Captain  Jarvis  was  at  last 
actually  seen  to  bag  one  honestly. 

As  Jarvis  felt  something  like  a  consciousness  that  but 
for  his  folly  the  accident  would  not  have  happened,  and 
also  something  very  like  shame  for  the  manner  he  had 
shrunk  from  the  danger  Denbigh  had  so  nobly  met,  he 
pretended  a  recall  to  his  regiment,  then  on  duty  near  Lon- 
don, and  left  the  Deanery.  He  went  off  as  he  came  in — 
in  the  colonel's  tilbury,  and  accompanied  by  his  friend  and 
his  pointers.  John,  who  saw  them  pass  from  the  windows 
of  Denbigh's  dressing-room,  fervently  prayed  he  might 
never  come  back  again — the  chip-shooting  poacher  ! 

Colonel  Egerton  had  taken  leave  of  Jane  the  evening 
preceding,  with  many  assurances  of  the  anxiety  with  which 
he  should  look  forward  to  the  moment  of  their  meeting  at 

L ,  whither  he  intended  repairing  as  soon  as  his  corps 

had  gone  through  its  annual  review.  Jane  had  followed 
the  bent  of  her  natural  feelings  too  much,  during  the  period 
of  Denbigh's  uncertain  fate,  to  think  much  of  her  lover, 
or  anything  else  but  her  rescued  sister  and  her  preserver  ; 
but  now  the  former  was  pronounced  in  safety  and  the  latter, 
by  the  very  reaction  of  her  grief,  was,  if  possible,  happier 
than  ever,  Jane  dwelt  in  melancholy  sadness  on  the  per- 
fections of  the  man  who  had  taken  with  him  the  best  af- 
fections (as  she  thought)  of  her  heart.  With  him  all  was 
perfect  :  his  morals  were  unexceptionable  ;  his  manners 
showed  it ;  his  tenderness  of  disposition  manifest,  for  they 
had  wept  together  over  the  distresses  of  more  than  one 
fictitious  heroine  ;  his  temper,  how  amiable  !  he  was  never 
angry — she  had  never  seen  it ;  his  opinions,  his  tastes,  how 
correct !  they  were  her  own  ;  his  form,  his  face,  how  agree- 
able ! — her  eyes  had  seen  it,  and  her  heart  acknowledged 
it  ;  besides,  his  eyes  confessed  the  power  of  her  own 
charms  ;  he  was  brave,  for  he  was  a  soldier  ; — in  short,  as 


PRECAUTION.  115 

Emily  had  predicted,  he  was  a  hero — for  he  was  Colonel 
Egerton. 

Had  Jane  been  possessed  of  less  exuberance  of  fancy, 
she  might  have  been  a  little  at  a  loss  to  identify  all  these 
good  properties  with  her  hero ;  or  had  she  possessed  a 
matured  or  well-regulated  judgment  to  control  that  fancy, 
they  might  possibly  have  assumed  a  different  appearance. 
No  explanation  had  taken  place  between  them,  however. 
Jane  knew,  both  by  her  own  feelings  and  by  all  the  legends 
of  love  from  its  earliest  days,  that  the  moment  of  parting 
was  generally  a  crisis  in  affairs  of  the  heart,  and,  with  a 
backwardness  occasioned  by  her  modesty,  had  rather 
avoided  than  sought  an  opportunity  to  favor  the  colonel's 
wishes.  Egerton  had  not  been  over-anxious  to  come  to  the 
point,  and  everything  was  left  as  heretofore  :  neither,  how- 
ever, appeared  to  doubt  in  the  least  the  state  of  the  other's 
affections  ;  and  there  might  be  said  to  exist  between  them 
one  of  those  not  unusual  engagements  by  implication 
which  it  would  have  been,  in  their  own  estimation,  a  breach 
of  faith  to  recede  from,  but  which,  like  all  other  bargains 
that  are  loosely  made,  are  sometimes  violated  when  con- 
venient. Man  is  a  creature  that,  as  experience  has  suffi- 
ciently proved,  it  is  necessary  to  keep  in  his  proper  place 
in  society  by  wholesome  restrictions  ;  and  we  have  often 
thought  it  a  matter  of  regret  that  some  well-understood 
regulations  did  not  exist  by  which  it  became  not  only  cus- 
tomary, but  incumbent  on  him,  to  proceed  in  his  road  to 
the  temple  of  Hymen.  We  know  that  it  is  ungenerous, 
ignoble,  almost  unprecedented,  to  doubt  the  faith,  the  con- 
stancy, of  a  male  paragon  ;  yet,  somehow,  as  the  papers 
occasionally  give  us  a  sample  of  such  infidelity ;  as  we  have 
sometimes  seen  a  solitary  female  brooding  over  her  woes 
in  silence,  and,  with  the  seemliness  of  feminine  decorum, 
shrinking  from  the  discovery  of  its  cause,  or  which  the 
grave  has  revealed  for  the  first  time,  we  cannot  but  wish 
that  either  the  watchfulness  of  the  parent,  or  a  sense  of 
self-preservation  in  the  daughter,  would,  for  the  want  of  a 
better,  cause  them  to  adhere  to  those  old  conventional 
forms  of  courtship  which  require  a  man  to  speak  to  be  un- 
derstood, and  a  woman  to  answer  to  be  committed. 

There  was  a  little  parlor  in  the  house  of  Sir  Edward 
Moseley,  that  \vas  the  privileged  retreat  of  none  but  the 
members  of  his  own  family.  Here  the  ladies  were  accus- 
tomed to  withdraw  into  the  bosom  of  their  domestic  qui- 
etude, when  occasional  visitors  had  disturbed  their  ordi 


n6  PRECAUTION. 

nary  intercourse  ;  and  many  were  the  hasty  and  unreserved 
communications  it  had  witnessed  between  the  sisters,  in 
their  stolen  flights  from  the  graver  scenes  of  the  principal 
apartments.  It  might  be  said  to  be  sacred  to  the  pious 
feelings  of  the  domestic  affections.  Sir  Edward  would  re- 
tire to  it  when  fatigued  with  his  occupations,  certain  of 
finding  some  one  of  those  he  loved  to  draw  his  thoughts 
off  from  the  cares  of  life  to  the  little  incidents  of  his  chil- 
dren's happiness  ;  and  Lady  Moseley,  even  in  the  proudest 
hours  of  her  reviving  splendor,  seldom  passed  the  door 
without  looking  in,  with  a  smile,  on  the  faces  she  might 
find  there.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  room  in  the  large  mansion 
of  the  baronet,  expressly  devoted,  by  long  usage  and  com- 
mon consent,  to  the  purest  feelings  of  human  nature.  Into 
this  apartment  Denbigh  had  gained  admission,  as  the  one 
nearest  to  his  own  room,  and  requiring  the  least  effort  of 
his  returning  strength  to  reach  ;  and,  perhaps,  by  an  unde- 
finable  feeling  of  the  Moseleys  which  had  begun  to  con- 
nect him  with  themselves,  partly  from  his  winning  man- 
ners, and  partly  by  the  sense  of  the  obligation  he  had  laid 
them  under. 

One  warm  day,  John  and  his  friend  had  sought  this  re- 
treat, in  expectation  of  meeting  his  sisters,  who  they  found, 
however,  on  inquiry,  had  walked  to  the  arbor.  After  re- 
maining conversing  for  an  hour  by  themselves,  John  was 
called  away  to  attend  to  a  pointer  that  had  been  taken 
ill,  and  Denbigh,  throwing  a  handkerchief  over  his  head 
to  guard  against  the  danger  of  cold,  quietly  composed 
himself  on  one  of  the  comfortable  sofas  of  the  room,  with 
a  disposition  to  sleep.  Before  he  had  entirely  lost  his 
consciousness,  a  light  step  moving  near  him,  caught  his 
ear ;  believing  it  to  be  a  servant  unwilling  to  disturb 
him,  he  endeavored  to  continue  in  his  present  mood,  until 
the  quick  but  stifled  breathing  of  some  one  nearer  than 
before  roused  his  curiosity.  He  commanded  himself,  how- 
ever, sufficiently,  to  remain  quiet ;  a  blind  of  a  window 
near  him  was  carefully  closed  ;  a  screen  drawn  from  a 
corner  and  placed  so  as  sensibly  to  destroy  the  slight 
draught  of  air  in  which  he  had  laid  himself ;  and  other 
arrangements  were  making,  but  with  a  care  to  avoid  dis- 
turbing him  that  rendered  them  hardly  audible.  Pres- 
ently the  step  approached  him  again,  the  breathing  was 
quicker,  though  gentle,  the  handkerchief  was  moved,  but 
the  hand  was  withdrawn  hastily,  as  if  afraid  of  itself.  An- 
other effort  was  successful,  and  Denbigh  stole  a  glance 


PRECAUTION.  117 

through  his  dark  lashes,  on  the  figure  of  Emily  as  she  stood 
over  him  in  the  fulness  of  her  charms,  and  with  a  face  in 
which  glowed  an  interest  he  had  never  witnessed  in  it  be- 
fore. It  undoubtedly  was  gratitude.  For  a  moment  she 
gazed  on  him,  as  her  color  increased  in  richness.  His 
hand  was  carelessly  thrown  over  an  arm  of  the  sofa ;  she 
stooped  toward  it  with  her  face  gently,  but  with  an  air  of 
modesty  that  shone  in  her  very  figure.  Denbigh  felt  the 
warmth  of  her  breath,  but  her  lips  did  not  touch  it.  Had 
he  been  inclined  to  judge  the  actions  of  Emily  Moseley 
harshly,  it  were  impossible  to  mistake  the  movement  for 
anything  but  the  impulse  of  natural  feeling.  There  was  a 
pledge  of  innocence,  of  modesty,  in  her  countenance,  that 
would  have  prevented  any  misconstruction  ;  and  he  con- 
tinued quietly  awaiting  what  the  preparations  on  her  little 
mahogany  secretary  were  intended  for. 

Mrs.  Wilson  entertained  a  great  abhorrence  of  what  are 
commonly  called  accomplishments  in  a  woman ;  she  knew 
that  too  much  of  that  precious  time  which  could  never  be 
recalled,  was  thrown  away  in  endeavoring  to  acquire  a 
smattering  in  what,  if  known,  could  never  be  of  use  to  the 
party,  and  what  can  never  be  well  known  but  to  a  few, 
whom  nature  and  long  practice  have  enabled  to  conquer. 
Yet  as  her  niece  had  early  manifested  a  taste  for  painting, 
and  a  vivid  perception  of  the  beauties  of  nature,  her  in- 
clination had  been  indulged,  and  Emily  Moseley  sketched 
with  neatness  and  accuracy,  and  with  great  readiness.  It 
would  have  been  no  subject  of  surprise,  had  admiration,  or 
some  more  powerful  feeling,  betrayed  to  the  artist,  on  this 
occasion,  the  deception  the  young  man  was  practising. 
She  had  entered  the  room  from  her  walk,  warm  and  care- 
less ;  her  hair,  than  which  none  was  more  beautiful,  had 
strayed  on  her  shoulders,  freed  from  the  confinement  of 
the  comb,  and  a  lock  was  finely  contrasted  to  the  rich 
color  of  a  cheek  that  almost  burnt  with  the  exercise  and 
the  excitement.  Her  dress,  white  as  the  first  snow  of  the 
winter  ;  her  looks,  as  she  now  turned  them  on  the  face  of 
the  sleeper,  and  betrayed  by  their  animation  the  success 
of  her  art,  formed  a  picture  in  itself,  that  Denbigh  would 
have  been  content  to  gaze  on  forever.  Her  back  was  to  a 
window,  that  threw  its  strong  light  on  the  paper — the  fig- 
ures of  which  were  reflected,  as  she  occasionally  held  it  up 
to  study  its  effect,  in  a  large  mirror  so  placed  that  Den- 
bigh caught  a  view  of  her  subject.  He  knew  it  at  a  glance 
—the  arbor — the  gun — himself,  all  were  there  ;  it  appeared 


li8  PRECAUTION. 

to  have  been  drawn  before — it  must  have  been,  from  its 
perfect  state,  and  Emily  had  seized  a  favorable  moment 
to  complete  his  own  resemblance.  He'r  touches  were 
light  and  finishing,  and  as  the  picture  was  frequently  held 
up  for  consideration,  he  had  some  time  allowed  for  study- 
ing it.  His  own  resemblance  was  strong  ;  his  eyes  were 
turned  on  herself,  to  whom  Denbigh  thought  she  had  not 
done  ample  justice,  but  the  man  \vho  held  the  gun  bore 
no  likeness  to  John  Moseley,  except  in  dress.  A  slight 
movement  of  the  muscles  of  the  sleeper's  mouth  might 
have  betrayed  his  consciousness,  had  not  Emily  been  too 
intent  on  the  picture,  as  she  turned  it  in  such  a  way 
that  a  strong  light  fell  on  the  recoiling  figure  of  Captain 
Jarvis.  The  resemblance  was  wonderful.  Denbigh  thought 
he  would  have  known  it,  had  he  seen  it  in  the  Academy 
itself.  The  noise  of  some  one  approaching  closed  the 
portfolio  ;  it  was  only  a  servant,  yet  Emily  did  not  resume 
her  pencil.  Denbigh  watched  her  motions,  as  she  put 
the  picture  carefully  in  a  private  drawer  of  the  secretary, 
reopened  the  blind,  replaced  the  screen,  and  laid  the  hand- 
kerchief, the  last  thing,  on  his  face,  with  a  movement 
almost  imperceptible  to  himself. 

"  It  is  later  than  I  thought,"  said  Denbigh,  looking  at 
his  watch  ;  "I  owe  an  apology,  Miss  Moseley,  for  mak- 
ing so  free  with  your  parlor  ;  but  I  was  too  lazy  to 
move." 

"Apology!  Mr.  Denbigh,"  cried  Emily,  with  a  color 
varying  with  every  word  she  spoke,  and  trembling  at 
what  she  thought  the  nearness  of  detection,  "  you  have 
no  apology  to  make  for  your  present  debility  ;  and,  surely, 
surely,  least  of  all  to  me  !  " 

"I  understand  from  Mr.  Moseley,"  continued  Denbigh, 
with  a  smile,  "  that  our  obligation  is  at  least  mutual  ;  to 
your  perseverance  and  care,  Miss  Moseley,  after  the  physi- 
cians had  given  me  up,  I  believe  I  am,  under  Providence, 
indebted  for  my  recovery." 

Emily  was  not  vain,  and  least  of  all  addicted  to  a  dis- 
play of  any  of  her  acquirements  ;  very  few  even  of  her 
friends  knew  she  ever  held  a  pencil  in  her  hand  ;  yet  did 
she  now  unaccountably  throw  open  her  portfolio,  and 
offer  its  contents  to  the  examination  of  her  companion. 
It  was  done  almost  instantaneously,  and  with  great  free- 
dom, though  not  without  certain  flushings  of  the  face  and 
heavings  of  the  bosom,  that  would  have  eclipsed  Grace 
Chatterton  in  her  happiest  moments  of  natural  flattery. 


PRE  CA  UTION.  1 1 9 

Whatever  might  have  been  the  wishes  of  Mr.  Denbigh  to 
pursue  a  subject  which  had  begun  to  grow  extremely  in- 
teresting, both  from  its  import  and  the  feelings  of  the  par- 
ties, it  would  have  been  rude  to  decline  viewing  the  con- 
tents of  a  lady's  portfolio.  The  drawings  were,  many  of 
them,  interesting,  and  the  exhibitor  of  them  now  appeared 
as  anxious  to  remove  them  in  haste,  as  she  had  but  the 
moment  before  been  to  direct  his  attention  to  her  per- 
formances. Denbigh  would  have  given  much  to  dare  to 
ask  for  the  paper  so  carefully  secreted  in  the  private 
drawer  ;  but  neither  the  principal  agency  he  had  himself 
in  the  scene,  nor  delicacy  to  his  companion's  wish  for 
concealment,  would  allow  of  the  request. 

"  Doctor  Ives  !  how  happy  I  am  to  see  you,"  said  Emily, 
hastily  closing  her  portfolio,  and  before  Denbigh  had  gone 
half  through  its  contents;  "you  have  become  almost  a 
stranger  to  us  since  Clara  left  us." 

"  No,  no,  my  little  friend,  never  a  stranger,  I  hope,  at 
Moseley  Hall,"  cried  the  doctor,  pleasantly;  "George,  I 
am  happy  to  see  you  look  so  well — you  have  even  a  color 
— there  is  a  letter  for  you,  from  Marian." 

Denbigh  took  the  letter  eagerly,  and  retired  to  a  win- 
dow to  peruse  it.  His  hand  shook  as  he  broke  the  seal, 
and  his  interest  in  the  writer,  or  its  contents,  could  not 
have  escaped  the  notice  of  any  observer,  however  indif- 
ferent. 

"Now,  Miss  Emily,  if  you  will  have  the  goodness  to  or- 
der me  a  glass  of  wine  and  water  after  my  ride,  believe  me, 
you  will  do  a  very  charitable  act,"  cried  the  doctor,  as  he 
took  his  seat  on  the  sofa. 

Emily  was  standing  by  the  little  table,  deeply  musing 
on  the  contents  of  her  portfolio  ;  for  her  eyes  were  in- 
tently fixed  on  the  outside,  as  if  she  expected  to  see 
through  the  leather  covering  their  merits  and  faults. 

"Miss  Emily  Moseley,"  continued  the  doctor,  gravely, 
u  am  I  to  die  of  thirst  or  not,  this  warm  day  ?  " 

"  Do  you  wish  anything,  Doctor  Ives  ? " 

"  A  servant  to  get  me  a  glass  of  wine  and  water." 

"Why  did  you  not  ask  me,  my  dear  sir?"  said  Emily, 
as  she  threw  open  a  cellaret,  and  handed  him  what  he 
wanted. 

"  There,  my  dear,  there  is  a  great  plenty,"  said  the  doo 
tor,  with  an  arch  expression  ;  "  I  really  thought  I  had  asked 
you  thrice — but  I  believe  you  were  studying  something  in 
that  portfolio." 


PRECA  UTION; 


Emily  blushed,  and  endeavored  to  laugh  at  her  own  ab- 
sence of  mind  ;  but  she  would  have  given  the  world  to 
know  who  Marian  was. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

As  a  month  had  elapsed  since  he  received  his  wound, 
Denbigh  took  an  opportunity,  one  morning  at  breakfast, 
where  he  was  well  enough  now  to  meet  his  friends,  to  an- 
nounce his  intention  of  trespassing  no  longer  on  their 
kindness,  but  of  returning  that  day  to  the  rectory.  The 
communication  distressed  the  whole  family,  and  the  baron- 
et turned  to  him  in  the  most  cordial  manner,  as  he  took 
one  of  his  hands,  and  said  with  an  air  of  solemnity — 

"  Mr.  Denbigh,  I  could  wish  you  to  make  this  house 
your  home  ;  Dr.  Ives  may  have  known  you  longer,  and 
may  have  the  claim  of  relationship  on  you,  but  I  am  cer- 
tain he  cannot  love  you  better  ;  and  are  not  the  ties  of 
gratitude  as  binding  as  those  of  blood  ?  " 

Denbigh  was  affected  by  the  kindness  of  Sir  Edward's 
manner. 

"  The  regiment  I  belong  to,  Sir  Edward,  will  be  reviewed 
\iext  week,  and  it  has  become  my  duty  to  leave  here  ;  there 
is  one  it  is  proper  I  should  visit,  a  near  connection,  who  is 
acquainted  with  the  escape  I  have  met  with,  and  wishes 
naturally  to  see  me  ;  besides,  my  dear  Sir  Edward,  she  has 
many  causes  of  sorrow,  and  it  is  a  debt  I  owe  her  affection 
to  endeavor  to  relieve  them." 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  spoken  of  his  family, 
or  hardly  of  himself,  and  the  silence  which4prevailed  plain- 
ly showed  the  interest  his  listeners  took  in  the  little  he 
uttered. 

That  connection,  thought  Emily — I  wonder  if  her  name 
be  Marian  ?  But  nothing  further  passed,  excepting  the 
affectionate  regrets  of  her  father,  and  the  promises  of  Den- 
bigh to  visit  them  again  before  he  left  B ,  and  of  join- 
ing them  at  L —  -  immediately  after  the  review  of  which 
he  had  spoken.  As  soon  as  he  had  breakfasted,  John 
drove  him  in  his  phaeton  to  the  rectory. 

Mrs.  Wilson,  like  the  rest  of  the  baronet's  family,  had 
been  too  deeply  impressed  with  the  debt  they  owed  this 
young  man  to  interfere  with  her  favorite  system  of  caution 
against  too  great  an  intimacy  betvyeen  her  niece  and  he* 


PRECAUTION'.  121 

preserver.  Close  observation  and  the  opinion  of  Dr.  Ives 
had  prepared  her  to  give  him  her  esteem  ;  but  the  gallan- 
try, the  self-devotion  he  had  displayed  to  Emily  was  an  act 
calculated  to  remove  heavier  objections  than  she  "could 
imagine  as  likely  to  exist  to  his  becoming  her  husband. 
That  he  meant  it,  was  evident  from  his  whole  deportment 
of  late.  Since  the  morning  the  portfolio  was  produced, 
Denbigh  had  given  a  more  decided  preference  to  her  niece. 
The  nice  discrimination  of  Mrs.  Wilson  would  not  have 
said  his  feelings  had  become  stronger,  but  that  he  labored 
less  to  conceal  them.  That  he  loved  her  niece  she  sus- 
pected from  the  first  fortnight  of  their  acquaintance,  and 
it  had  given  additional  stimulus  to  her  investigation  into 
his  character ;  but  to  doubt  it,  after  stepping  between  her 
and  death,  would  have  been  to  have  mistaken  human  nat- 
ure. There  was  one  qualification  she  would  have  wished 
to  have  been  certain  he  possessed  :  before  this  accident, 
she  would  have  made  it  an  indispensable  one  ;  but  the 
gratitude,  the  affections  of  Emily,  she  believed  now  to  be 
too  deeply  engaged  to  make  the  strict  inquiry  she  other- 
wise would  have  done  ;  and  she  had  the  best  of  reasons  for 
believing  that  if  Denbigh  were  not  a  true  Christian,  he  was 
at  least  a  strictly  moral  man,  and  assuredly  one  who  well 
understood  the  beauties  of  a  religion  she  almost  conceived 
it  impossible  for  any  impartial  and  intelligent  man  long  to 
resist.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Wilson,  having  in  some  measure  in- 
terfered with  her  system,  like  others,  had,  on  finding  it 
impossible  to  conduct  so  that  reason  would  justify  all  she 
did,  began  to  find  reasons  for  what  she  thought  best  to  be 
done  under  the  circumstances.  Denbigh,  however,  both 
by  his  acts  and  his  opinions,  had  created  such  an  estimate 
of  his  worth  in  the  breast  of  Mrs.  Wilson,  that  there  would 
have  been  but  little  danger  of  a  repulse  had  no  fortuitous 
accident  helped  him  in  his  way  to  her  favor. 

"Who  have  we  here  ?"  said  Lady  Moseley.  " A  landau- 
let  and  four — the  Earl  of  Bolton,  I  declare  ! " 

Lady  Moseley  turned  from  the  window  with  that  col- 
lected grace  she  so  well  loved,  and  so  well  knew  how  to 
assume,  to  receive  her  noble  visitor.  Lord  Bolton  was  a 
bachelor  of  sixty-five,  who  had  long  been  attached  to  the 
court,  and  retained  much  of  the  manners  of  the  old  school. 
His  principal  estate  was  in  Ireland,  and  most  of  that  time 
which  his  duty  at  Windsor  did  not  require  he  gave  to  the 
improvement  of  his  Irish  property.  Thus,  although  on 
perfectly  good  terms  with  the  baronet's  family,  they  sel 


122  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

dom  met.  With  General  Wilson  he  had  been  at  college, 
and  to  his  widow  he  always  showed  much  of  that  regard 
he  had  invariably  professed  for  her  husband.  The  obliga- 
tion he  had  conferred,  unasked,  on  Francis  Ives,  was  one 
conferred  on  all  his  friends,  and  his  reception  was  now 
warmer  than  usual. 

"  My  Lady  Moseley,"  said  the  earl,  bowing  formally  on 
her  hand,  "  your  looks  do  ample  justice  to  the  air  of 
Northamptonshire.  I  hope  you  enjoy  your  usual  health." 

Then,  waiting  her  equally  courteous  answer,  he  paid  his 
compliments,  in  succession,  to  all  the  members  of  the  fam- 
ily ;  a  mode  undoubtedly  well  adapted  to  discover  their 
several  conditions,  but  not  a  little  tedious  in  its  operations, 
and  somewhat  tiresome  to  the  legs. 

"We  are  under  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  your  lordship," 
said  Sir  Edward,  in  his  simple  and  warm-hearted  way, 
"  that  I  am  sorry  it  is  not  in  our  power  to  repay  more 
amply  than  by  our  thanks." 

The  earl  was,  or  affected  to  be,  surprised,  as  he  required 
an  explanation. 

"  The  living  at  Bolton,"  said  Lady  Moseley,  with  dignity. 

"  Yes,"  continued  her  husband;  "in  giving  the  living 
to  Frank  you  did  me  a  favor,  equal  to  what  you  would 
have  done  had  he  been  my  own  child  ;  and  unsolicited, 
too,  my  lord,  it  was  an  additional  compliment." 

The  earl  sat  rather  uneasy  during  this  speech,  but  the 
love  of  truth  prevailed  ;  for  he  had  been  too  much  round 
the  person  of  our  beloved  sovereign  not  to  retain  all  the 
impressions  of  his  youth  ;  and  after  a  little  struggle  with 
his  self-love,  he  answered — 

"Not  unsolicited,  Sir  Edward.  I  have  no  doubt,  had 
my  better  fortune  allowed  me  the  acquaintance  of  my 
present  rector,  his  own  merit  would  have  obtained  what  a 
sense  of  justice  requires  I  should  say  was  granted  to  an 
applicant  to  whom  the  ear  of  royalty  itself  would  not  have 
been  deaf." 

It  was  the  turn  of  the  Moseleys  now  to  look  surprised, 
arid  Sir  Edward  ventured  to  ask  an  explanation. 

"  It  was  my  cousin,  the  Earl  of  Pendennyss,  who  applied 
for  it,  as  a  favor  done  to  himself  ;  and  Pendennyss  is  a 
man  not  to  be  refused  anything." 

"Lord  Pendennyss  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  ani- 
mation ;  "  and  in  what  way  came  we  to  be  under  this  obli- 
gation to  Lord  Pendennyss  ?  " 

"  He  did  me  the  honor  of  a  call  during  my  visit  to  Ire- 


PR  EC  A  UTION. 


123 


land,  madam,"  replied  the  earl ;  "  and  on  inquiring  of  my 
steward  after  his  old  friend,  Doctor  Stevens,  learned  his 
death,  and  the  claims  of  Mr.  Ives  ;  but  the  reason  he  gave 
me  was  his  interest  in  the  widow  of  General  Wilson,"  bow- 
ing with  much  solemnity  to  the  lady  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  am  gratified  to  find  the  earl  yet  remembers  us,"  said 
Mrs.  Wilson,  struggling  to  restrain  her  tears.  "Are  we  to 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him  soon  ? " 

"  I  received  a  letter  from  him  yesterday,  saying  he 
should  be  here  in  all  next  week,  madam."  And  turning 
pleasantly  to  Jane  and  her  sister,  he  continued,  "  Sir 
Edward,  you  have  here  rewards  fit  for  heavier  services, 
and  the  earl  is  a  great  admirer  of  female  charms." 

"  Is  he  not  married,  my  lord  ? "  asked  the  baronet,  with 
great  simplicity. 

"  No,  baronet,  nor  engaged  ;  but  how  long  he  will  re- 
main so  after  his  hardihood  in  venturing  into  this  neigh- 
borhood, will,  I  trust,  depend  on  one  of  these  young  ladies." 

Jane  looked  grave — for  trifling  on  love  was  heresy,  in 
her  estimation  ;  but  Emily  laughed,  with  an  expression  in 
which  a  skilful  physiognomist  might  have  read — if  he 
means  me,  he  is  mistaken. 

"Your  cousin,  Lord  Chatterton,  has  found  interest,  Sir 
Edward,"  continued  the  peer,  "to  obtain  hjis  father's  situ- 
ation ;  and  if  reports  speak  truth,  he  wishes  to  become 
more  nearly  related  to  you,  baronet." 

"I  do  not  well  see  how  that  can  happen,"  said  Sir  Ed- 
ward with  a  smile,  and  who  had  not  art  enough  to  conceal 
his  thoughts,  "unless  he  takes  my  sister  here." 

The  cheeks  of  both  the  young  ladies  now  vied  with  the 
rose  ;  and  the  peer,  observing  he  had  touched  on  forbidden 
ground,  added,  "  Chatterton  was  fortunate  to  find  friends 
able  to  bear  up  against  the  powerful  interest  of  Lord 
Haverford." 

"  To  whom  was  he  indebted  for  the  place,  my  lord  ? " 
asked  Mrs.  Wilson. 

"  It  was  whispered  at  court,  madam,"  said  the  earl,  sen- 
sibly lowering  his  voice,  and  speaking  with  an  air  of  mys- 
tery— "  and  a  lord  of  the  bed-chamber  is  fonder  of  discov- 
eries than  a  lord  of  the  council — that  His  Grace  of  Derwent 
threw  the  whole  of  his  parliamentary  interest  into  the 
scale  on  the  baron's  side,  but  you  are  not  to  suppose," 
raising  his  hand  gracefully,  with  a  wave  of  rejection, 
"  that  I  speak  from  authority  ;  only  a  surmise,  Sir  Edward, 
only  a  surmise,  my  lady." 


124  PRECA  UTION; 

"Is  not  the  name  of  the  Duke  of  Derwent,  Denbigh  ?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  a  thoughtful  manner. 

"  Certainly,  madam,  Denbigh,"  replied  the  earl,  with  a 
gravity  with  which  he  always  spoke  of  dignities  ;  "one  of 
our  most  ancient  names,  and  descended  on  the  female  side 
from  the  Plantagenets  and  Tudors." 

He  now  rose  to  take  his  leave,  and  on  bowing  to  the 
younger  ladies,  laughingly  repeated  his  intention  of  bring- 
ing his  cousin  (an  epithet  he  never  omitted)  Pendennyss 
to  their  feet. 

"  Do  you  think,  sister,"  said  Lady  Moseley,  after  the 
earl  had  retired,  "  that  Mr.  Denbigh  is  of  the  house  of  Der- 
went ? " 

"I  cannot  say,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilson,  musing,  "yet  it  is 
odd,  Chatterton  told  me  of  his  acquaintance  with  Lady 
Harriet  Denbigh,  but  not  with  the  Duke." 

As  this  was  spoken  in  the  manner  of  a  soliloquy,  it  re- 
ceived no  answer,  and  was  in  fact  but  little  attended  to 
by  any  of  the  party,  excepting  Emily,  who  glanced  hei 
eye  once  or  twice  at  her  aunt  as  she  was  speaking 
with  an  interest  the  name  of  Denbigh  never  failed  to  ex 
cite.  Harriet  was,  she  thought,  a  pretty  name,  but  Ma- 
rian was  a  prettier  ;  if,  thought  Emily,  I  could  know  a 
Marian  Denbigh,  I  am  sure  I  could  love  her,  and  her 
name  too. 

The  Moseleys  now  began  to  make  their  preparations 
for  their  departure  to  L ,  and  the  end  of  the  succeed- 
ing week  was  fixed  for  the  period  at  which  they  were 
to  go.  Mrs.  Wilson  urged  a  delay  of  two  or  three  days, 
in  order  to  give  her  an  opportunity  of  meeting  with  the 
Earl  of  Pendennyss,  a  young  man  in  whom,  although 
she  had  relinquished  her  former  romantic  wish  of  unit- 
ing him  to  Emily,  in  favor  of  Denbigh,  she  yet  felt 
a  deep  interest,  growing  out  of  his  connection  with  the 
last  moments  of  her  husband,  and  his  uniformly  high 
character. 

Sir  Edward  accordingly  acquainted  his  uncle,  that  on 
the  following  Saturday  he  might  expect  to  receive  himself 
and  family,  intending  to  leave  the  Hall  in  the  afternoon  of 
the  preceding  day,  and  reach  Benfteld  Lodge  to  dinner. 
This  arrangement  once  made,  and  Mr.  Benfield  notified  of 
it,  was  unalterable,  the  old  man  holding  a  variation  from 
an  engagement  a  deadly  sin.  The  week  succeeding  the 
accident  which  had  nearly  proved  so  fatal  to  Denbigh,  the 
inhabitants  of  the  Hall  were  surprised  with  the  approach 


PRECA  UTfOJV.  125 

of  a  being,  as  singular  in  his  manners  and  dress  as  the 
equipage  which  conveyed  him  to  the  door  of  the  house. 
The  latter  consisted  of  a  high-backed,  old-fashioned  sulky, 
loaded  with  leather  and  large-headed  brass  nails;  wheels 
at  least  a  quarter  larger  in  circumference  than  those  of  the 
present  day,  and  wings  on  each  side  large  enough  to  have 
supported  a  full  grown  roc  in  the  highest  regions  of  the 
upper  air.  It  was  drawn  by  a  horse,  once  white,  but 
whose  milky  hue  was  tarnished  through  age  with  large 
and  numerous  red  spots,  and  whose  mane  and  tail  did  not 
appear  to  have  suffered  by  the  shears  during  the  present 
reign.  The  being  who  alighted  from  this  antiquated  ve- 
hicle was  tall  and  excessively  thin,  wrore  his  own  hair  drawn 
over  his  almost  naked  head  into  a  long  thin  queue,  which 
reached  half-way  down  his  back,  closely  cased  in  numerous 
windings  of  leather,  or  the  skin  of  some  fish.  His  drab 
coat  was  in  shape  between  a  frock  and  a  close-body — 
close-body,  indeed,  it  was  ;  for  the  buttons,  which  were  in 
size  about  equal  to  an  old-fashioned  china  saucer,  were 
buttoned  to  the  very  throat,  thereby  setting  off  his  shape 
to  peculiar  advantage;  his  breeches  were  buckskin,  and 
much  soiled  ;  his  stockings  blue  yarn,  although  it  was 
midsummer  ;  and  his  shoes  were  provided  with  buckles  of 
dimensions  proportionate  to  the  aforesaid-  buttons  ;  his 
age  might  have  been  seventy,  but  his  walk  was  quick,  and 
the  movements  of  his  whole  system  showed  great  activity 
both  of  mind  and  body.  He  was  ushered  into  the  room 
where  the  gentlemen  were  sitting,  and  having  made  a 
low  and  extremely  modest  bow,  he  deliberately  put  on 
his  spectacles,  thrust  his  hand  into  an  outside  pocket 
of  his  coat,  and  produced  from  under  its  huge  flaps  a 
black  leathern  pocket-book  about  as  large  as  a  good- 
sized  octavo  volume  ;  after  examining  the  multitude  of 
papers  it  contained  carefully,  he  selected  a  letter,  and  hav- 
ing returned  the  pocket-book  to  its  ample  apartment,  read 
aloud  : 

"For  Sir  Edward  Moseley,  bart,  of  Moseley  Hall, 

B ,  Northamptonshire — with  care  and  speed,  by  the 

hands  of  Mr.  Peter  Johnson,  steward  of  Benfield  Lodge, 
Norfolk  ;"  and  dropping  his  sharp  voice,  he  stalked  up  to 
the  baronet,  and  presented  the  epistle,  with  another  rev- 
erence. 

"Ah,  my  good  friend,  Johnson,"  said  Sir  Edward  as 
soon  as  he  delivered  his  errand  (for  until  he  saw  the  con- 
tents of  the  letter,  he  had  thought  some  accident  had  oc- 


126  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

curred  to  his  uncle),  "this  is  the  first  visit  you  have  ever 
honored  me  with  ;  come,  take  a  glass  of  wine  before  you  go 
to  your  dinner ;  let  us  drink  that  it  may  not  be  the  last." 

"Sir  Edward  Moseley,  and  you,  honorable  gentlemen, 
will  pardon  me,"  replied  the  steward,  in  his  own  solemn 
key,  "  this  is  the  first  time  I  was  ever  out  of  his  majesty's 
county  of  Norfolk,  and  I  devoutly  wish  it  may  prove  the 
last — gentlemen,  I  drink  your  honorable  healths." 

This  was  the  only  real  speech  the  old  man  made  during 
his  visit,  unless  an  occasional  monosyllabic  reply  to  a  ques- 
tion could  be  thought  so.  He  remained,  by  Sir  Edward's 
positive  order,  until  the  following  day  ;  for,  having  deliv- 
ered his  message,  and  receiving  its  answer,  he  was  about 
to  take  his  departure  that  evening,  thinking  he  might  get 
a  good  piece  on  his  road  homeward,  as  it  wanted  half  an 
hour  to  sunset.  On  the  following  morning,  with  the  sun, 
he  was  on  his  way  to  the  house  in  which  he  had  been  born, 
and  which  he  had  never  left  for  twenty-four  hours  at  a 
time  in  his  life.  In  the  evening,  as  he  was  ushered  in  by 
John  (who  had  known  him  from  his  own  childhood,  and 
loved  to  show  him  attention)  to  the  room  in  which  he  was 
to  sleep,  he  broke  what  the  young  man  called  his  inveter- 
ate silence,  with,  "Young  Mr.  Moseley — young  gentleman 
— might  I  presume — to  ask — to  see  the  gentleman  ?" 

"  What  gentleman  ? "  cried  John,  astonished  at  the  re- 
quest, and  at  his  speaking  so  much. 

"  That  saved  Miss  Emmy's  life,  sir." 

John  now  fully  comprehended  him,  and  led  the  way  to 
Denbigh's  room  ;  he  was  asleep,  but  they  were  admitted  to 
his  bedside.  The  steward  stood  for  ten  minutes  gazing 
on  the  sleeper  in  silence  ;  and  John  observed,  as  he  blew 
his  nose  on  regaining  his  own  apartment,  that  his  little 
gray  eyes  twinkled  with  a  lustre  which  could  not  be  taken 
for  anything  but  a  tear. 

As  the  letter  was  as  characteristic  of  the  writer  as  its 
bearer  was  of  his  vocation,  we  may  be  excused  giving  it  at 
length. 

"  Dear  Sir  Edward  and  Nephew, 

"  Your  letter  reached  the  lodge  too  late  to  be  answered 
that  evening,  as  I  was  about  to  step  into  my  bed  ;  but  I 
hasten  to  write  my  congratulations,  remembering  the  often 
repeated  maxim  of  my  kinsman,  Lord  Gosford,  that  letters 
should  be  answered  immediately  ;  indeed,  a  neglect  of  it 
had  very  nigh  brought  about  an  affair  of  honor  between 


PRECA  UTTON.  127 

the  earl  and  Sir  Stephens  Hallet.  Sir  Stephens  was  always 
opposed  to  us  in  the  House  of  Commons  of  this  realm  ; 
and  I  have  often  thought  something  might  have  passed  in 
the  debate  itself,  which  commenced  the  correspondence, 
as  the  earl  certainly  told  him  as  much  as  if  he  were  a 
traitor  to  his  king  and  country. 

11  But  it  seems  that  your  daughter  Emily  has  been  res- 
cued from  death  by  the  grandson  of  General  Denbigh,  who 
sat  with  us  in  the  house.  Now  I  always  had  a  good  opin- 
ion of  this  young  Denbigh,  who  reminds  me  every  time  I 
look  at  him,  of  my  late  brother,  your  father-in-law  that 
was  ;  and  I  send  my  steward,  Peter  Johnson,  express  to  the 
Hall,  in  order  that  he  may  see  the  sick  man,  and  bring  me 
back  a  true  account  how  he  fares  ;  for,  should  he  be  want- 
ing for  anything  within  the  gift  of  Roderic  Benfield,  he 
has  only  to  speak  to  have  it ;  not  that  I  suppose,  nephew, 
you  will  willingly  allow  him  to  suffer  for  anything,  but 
Peter  is  a  man  of  close  observation  although  he  is  of  few 
words,  and  may  suggest  some  thing  beneficial  that  might 
escape  younger  heads.  I  pray  for — that  is,  I  hope,  the 
young  man  will  recover,  as  your  letter  gives  great  hopes  ; 
and  if  he  should  want  any  little  matter  to  help  him 
along  in  the  army,  as  I  take  it  he  is  not  over  wealthy, 
you  have  now  a  good  opportunity  to  offer  your  assist- 
ance handsomely  ;  and,  that  it  may  not  interfere  with 
your  arrangements  for  this  winter,  your  draft  on  me 
for  five  thousand  pounds  will  be  paid  at  sight ;  for  fear  he 
may  be  proud,  and  not  choose  to  accept  your  assistance,  I 
have  this  morning  detained  Peter,  while  he  has  put  a  codi- 
cil in  my  will,  leaving  him  ten  thousand  pounds.  You  may 
tell  Emily  she  is  a  naughty  child,  or  she  would  have  writ- 
ten me  the  whole  story  ;  but,  poor  dear,  I  suppose  she  has 
other  things  on  her  mind  just  now.  God  bless  Mr.  - 
that  is,  God  bless  you  all,  and  try  if  you  cannot  get  a  lieu- 
tenant-colonelcy at  once — the  brother  of  Lady  Juliana's 
friend  was  made  a  lieutenant-colonel  at  the  first  step. 

"  RODERIC  BENFIELD." 

The  result  of  Peter's  reconnoitring  expedition  has  never 
reached  our  knowledge,  unless  the  arrival  of  a  servant, 
some  days  after  he  took  his  leave,  with  a  pair  of  enormous 
goggles,  and  which  the  old  gentleman  assured  his  nephew 
in  a  note,  both  Peter  and  himself  had  found  useful  to 
weak  eyes  in  their  occasional  sickness,  might  have  been 
owing  to  the  prudent  forecast  of  the  sagacious  steward. 


128  PRKCA  UTIO.V. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  morning  on  which  Denbigh  left  B was  a  mel- 
ancholy one  to  all  the  members  of  the  little  circle,  in 
which  he  had  been  so  distinguished  for  his  modesty,  his 
intelligence,  and  his  disinterested  intrepidity.  Sir  Edward 
took  an  opportunity  solemnly  to  express  his  gratitude  for 
the  services  he  had  rendered  him,  and,  having  retired  to 
his  library,  delicately  and  earnestly  pressed  his  availing 
himself  of  the  liberal  offer  of  Mr.  Benfield  to  advance  his 
interests  in  the  army. 

"  Look  upon  me,  my  dear  Mr.  Denbigh,"  said  the  good 
baronet,  pressing  him  by  the  hand,  while  the  tears  stood 
in  his  eyes,  "  as  a  father,  to  supply  the  place  of  the  one 
you  have  so  recently  lost.  You  are  my  child  ;  I  feel  as  a 
parent  to  you,  and  must  be  suffered  to  act  as  one." 

To  this  affectionate  offer  of  Sir  Edward,  Denbigh  re- 
plied with  an  emotion  equal  to  that  of  the  baronet,  though 
he  declined  with  respectful  language,  his  offered  assist- 
ance, as  unnecessary.  He  had  friends  powerful  enough  to 
advance  his  interests,  without  resorting  to  the  use  of 
money  ;  and,  on  taking  Sir  Edward's  hand,  as  he  left  the 
apartment,  he  added,  with  great  warmth,  "  yet,  my  dear 
sir,  the  day  will  come,  I  hope,  when  I  shall  ask  a  boon 
from  your  hands,  that  no  act  of  mine  or  a  life  of  service 
could  entitle  me  to  receive." 

The  baronet  smiled  his  assent  to  a  request  he  already 
understood,  and  Denbigh  withdrew. 

John  Moseley  insisted  on  putting  the  bays  in  requisition 
to  carry  Denbigh  for  the  first  stage,  and  they  now  stood 
caparisoned  for  the  jaunt,  with  their  master  in  a  less  joy- 
ous mood  than  common,  waiting  the  appearance  of  his 
companion. 

Emily  delighted  in  their  annual  excursion  to  Benfield 
Lodge.  She  was  beloved  so  warmly,  and  returned  the 
affection  of  its  owner  so  sincerely,  that  the  arrival  of  the 
day  never  failed  to  excite  that  flow  of  spirits  which  gener- 
ally accompanies  anticipated  pleasures,  ere  experience 
has  proved  how  trifling  are  the  greatest  enjoyments  the 
scenes  of  this  life  bestow.  Yet,  as  the  day  of  their  depart- 
ure drew  near,  her  spirits  sunk  in  proportion  ;  and,  on 
the  morning  of  Denbigh's  leave-taking,  Emily  seemed  any- 
thing but  excessively  happy.  There  was  a  tremor  in  her 


PRECA  UTION.  129 

voice  and  a  redness  in  her  eyes  that  alarmed  Lady  Mose- 
ley  ;  but,  as  the  paleness  of  her  cheeks  was  immediately 
succeeded  by  as  fine  a  color  as  the  heart  could  wish,  the 
anxious  mother  allowed  herself  to  be  persuaded  by  Mrs. 
Wilson  there  was  no  danger,  and  she  accompanied  her  sis- 
ter to  her  own  room  for  some  purpose  of  domestic  econo- 
my. It  was  at  this  moment  Denbigh  entered  ;  he  had 
paid  his  adieus  to  the  matrons  at  the  door,  and  been 
directed  by  them  to  the  little  parlor  in  quest  of  Emily. 

"  I  have  come  to  make  my  parting  compliments,  Miss 
Moseley,"  he  said,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  as  he  ventured  to 
hold  forth  his  hand.  "  May  heaven  preserve  you,"  he  con- 
tinued, holding  it  in  fervor  to  his  bosom  ;  then  dropping 
it  he  hastily  retired,  as  if  unwilling  to  trust  himself  any 
longer  to  utter  all  he  felt.  Emily  stood  a  few  mo- 
ments, pale  and  almost  inanimate,  as  the  tears  flowed  rap- 
idly from  her  eyes  ;  and  then  she  sought  a  shelter  in  a 
seat  of  the  window.  Lady  Moseley,  on  returning,  was 
alarmed  lest  the  draught  would  increase  her  indisposition  ; 
but  her  sister,  observing  that  the  window  commanded  a 
view  of  the  road,  thought  the  air  too  mild  to  do  her  in- 
jury. 

The  personages  who  composed  the  society  at  B— 
had  now,  in  a  great  measure,  separated,  in  pursuit  of  their 
duties  or  their  pleasures.  The  merchant  and  his  family 
left  the  Deanery  for  a  watering-place.  Francis  and  Clara 
had  gone  on  a  little  tour  of  pleasure  in  the  northern  coun- 
ties, to  take  L in  their  return  homeward  ;  and  the 

morning  arrived  for  the  commencement  of  the  baronet's 
journey  to  the  same  place.  The  carriages  had  been  or- 
dered, and  servants  were  running  in  various  ways,  busily 
employed  in  their  several  occupations,  when  Mrs.  Wilson, 
accompanied  by  John  and  his  sisters,  returned  from  a 
walk  they  had  taken  to  avoid  the  bustle  of  the  house.  A 
short  distance  from  the  park  gates,  an  equipage  was  ob- 
served approaching,  creating  by  its  numerous  horses  and 
attendants  a  dust  which  drove  the  pedestrians  to  one  side 
of  the  road.  An  uncommonly  elegant  and  admirably  fit- 
ted travelling  barouche  and  six  rolled  by,  with  the  grace- 
ful steadiness  of  an  English  equipage  ;  several  servants  on 
horseback  were  in  attendance  ;  our  little  party  were  struck 
with  the  beauty  of  the  whole  establishment. 

"  Can  it  be  possible  Lord  Bolton  drives  such  elegant 
horses  ? "  cried  John,  with  the  ardor  of  a  connoisseur  in  that 
noble  animal.  "They  arc  the  finest  set  in  the  kingdom." 


1 3o  PRECA  UTION. 

Jane's  eyes  had  seen,  through  the  clouds  of  dust,  the 
armorial  bearings,  which  seemed  to  float  in  the  dark  glossy 
panels  of  the  carriage,  and  she  observed,  "  It  is  an  earl's 
coronet,  but  they  are  not  the  Bolton  arms."  Mrs.  Wilson 
and  Emily  had  noticed  a  gentleman  reclining  at  his  ease, 
as  the  owner  of  the  gallant  show  ;  but  its  passage  was  too 
rapid  to  enable  them  to  distinguish  the  features  of  the 
courteous  old  earl  ;  indeed,  Mrs.  Wilson  remarked,  she 
thought  him  a  younger  man  than  her  friend. 

"  Pray,  sir,"  said  John  to  a  tardy  groom,  as  he  civilly 
walked  his  horse  by  the  ladies,  "who  has  passed  in  the 
barouche  ?  " 

"  My  Lord  Pendennyss,  sir." 

"  Pendennyss  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  a  tone  of 
regret,  "  how  unfortunate  !  " 

She  had  seen  the  day  named  for  his  visit  pass  without 
his  arrival,  and  now,  as  it  was  too  late  to  profit  by  the  op- 
portunity, he  had  come  for  the  second  time  into  her 
neighborhood.  Emily  had  learnt,  by  the  solicitude  of  her 
aunt,  to  take  an  interest  in  the  young  peer's  movements, 
and  desired  John  to  ask  a  question  or  two  of  the  groom. 

"  Where  does  your  lord  stop  to-night  ?" 

"  At  Bolton  Castle,  sir  ;  and  I  heard  my  lord  tell  his  valet 
that  he  intended  staying  one  day  hereabouts,  and  the  day 
after  to-morrow  he  goes  to  Wales,  your  honor." 

"  I  thank  you,  friend,"  said  John  ;  when  the  man  spurred 
his  horse  after  the  cavalcade.  The  carriages  were  at  the 
door,  and  Sir  Edward  had  been  hurrying  Jane  to  enter,  as 
a  servant  in  a  rich  livery  and  well  mounted,  galloped  up 
and  delivered  a  letter  for  Mrs.  Wilson,  who,  on  opening  it, 
read  the  following  : 

"  The  Earl  of  Pendennyss  begs  leave  to  present  his  most 
respectful  compliments  to  Mrs.  Wilson  and  the  family  of 
Sir  Edward  Moseley.  Lord  Pendennyss  will  have  the 
honor  of  paying  his  respects  in  person  at  any  moment  that 
the  widow  of  his  late  invaluable  friend,  Lieutenant-General 
Wilson,  will  please  to  appoint. 

"  Bolton  Castle,  Friday  evening." 

To  this  note  Mrs.  Wilson,  bitterly  regretting  the  neces- 
sity which  compelled  her  to  forego  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
her  paragon,  wrote  in  reply  a  short  letter,  disliking  the 
formality  of  a  note. 


PRECA  UTION.  13! 

"  MY  LORD, 

"  I  sincerely  regret  that  an  engagement  which  cannot  be 
postponed  compels  us  to  leave  Moseley  Hall  within  the 
hour,  and  must,  in  consequence,  deprive  us  of  the  pleasure 
of  your  intended  visit.  But  as  circumstances  have  con- 
nected your  lordship  with  some  of  the  dearest,  although 
the  most  melancholy  events  of  my  life,  I  earnestly  beg  you 
will  no  longer  consider  us  as  strangers  to  your  person,  as 
we  have  long  ceased  to  be  to  your  character.  It  will  afford 
me  the  greatest  pleasure  to  hear  that  there  will  be  a  pros- 
pect of  our  meeting  in  town  next  winter,  where  I  may  find 
a  more  fitting  opportunity  of  expressing  those  grateful 
feelings  so  long  due  to  your  lordship  from  your  sincere 
friend,  CHARLOTTE  WILSON. 

"  Moseley  Hall,  Friday  morning." 

With  this  answer  the  servant  was  dispatched,  and  the  car- 
riages moved  on.  John  had  induced  Emily  to  trust  herself 
once  more  to  the  bays  and  his  skill ;  but,  on  perceiving  the 
melancholy  of  her  aunt,  she  insisted  on  exchanging  seats 
with  Jane,  who  had  accepted  a  place  in  the  carnage  of 
Mrs.  Wilson.  No  objection  being  made,  Mrs.  Wilson  and 
her  niece  rode  the  first  afternoon  together  in  her  travel- 
ling chaise.  The  road  runs  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of 
Bolton  Castle,  and  the  ladies  endeavored  in  vain  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  the  person  of  the  young  nobleman.  Emily  was 
willing  to  gratify  her  aunt's  propensity  to  dwell  on  the  char- 
acter and  history  of  her  favorite  ;  and  hoping  to  withdraw 
her  attention  gradually  from  more  unpleasant  recollections, 
asked  several  trifling  questions  relating  to  those  points. 

"The  earl  must  be  very  rich,  aunt,  from  the  style  he 
maintains." 

"  Very,  my  dear  ;  his  family  I  am  unacquainted  with, 
but  I  understand  his  title  is  an  extremely  ancient  one  ;  and 
some  one,  I  believe  Lord  Bolton,  mentioned  that  his  es- 
tates in  Wales  alone  exceeded  fifty  thousand  a  year." 

"  Much  good  might  be  done,"  said  Emily,  thoughtfully, 
"with  such  a  fortune." 

"  Much  good  is  done,"  cried  her  aunt,  with  fervor.  "  I 
am  told  by  every  one  who  knows  him,  his  donations  are 
large  and  frequent.  Sir  Herbert  Nicholson  said  he  was 
extremely  simple  in  his  habits,  and  it  leaves  large  sums  at 
his  disposal  every  year." 

"The  bestowal  of  money  is  not  always  charity,"  said 
Emily,  with  an  arch  smile  and  a  slight  color, 


132  PRECA  UTlOiV. 

Mrs.  Wilson  smiled  in  her  turn  as  she  answered,  "not 
always,  but  it  is  charity  to  hope  for  the  best." 

"  Sir  Herbert  knew  him,  then  ? "  said  Emily. 

"  Perfectly  well  ;  they  were  associated  together  in  the 
service  for  several  years,  and  he  spoke  of  him  with  a  fervor 
equal  to  my  warmest  expectations." 

The  Moseley  Arms  in  F was  kept  by  an  old  butler 

of  the  family,  and  Sir  Edward  every  year,  in  going  to  or 

coming  from  L ,  spent  a  night  under  its  roof.  He  was 

received  by  its  master  with  a  respect  that  none  who  ever 
knew  the  baronet  well,  could  withhold  from  his  goodness 
of  heart  and  many  virtues. 

"Well,  Jackson,"  said  the  baronet,  kindly,  as  he  was 
seated  at  the  supper-table,  "  how  does  custom  increase  with 
you — I  hope  you  and  the  master  of  the  Dun  Cow  are  more 
amicable  than  formerly  ? " 

"Why,  Sir  Edward,"  replied  the  host,  who  had  lost  a 
little  of  the  deference  of  the  servant  in  the  landlord,  but 
none  of  his  real  respect,  "Mr.  Daniels  and  I  are  more  upon 
a  footing  of  late  than  we  was,  when  your  goodness  en- 
abled me  to  take  the  house;  then  he  got  all  the  great 
travellers,  and  for  more  than  a  twelvemonth  I  had  not  a 
title  in  my  house  but  yourself  and  a  great  London  doc- 
tor that  was  called  here  to  see  a  sick  person  in  the  town. 
He  had  the  impudence  to  call  me  the  knight  barrow- 
knight,  your  honor,  and  we  had  a  quarrel  upon  that  ac- 
count." 

"I  am  glad,  however,  to  find  you  are  gaining  in  the 
rank  of  your  customers,  and  trust,  as  the  occasion  has 
ceased,  you  will  be  more  inclined  to  be  good-natured  to 
each  other." 

"Why,  as  to  good  nature,  Sir  Edward,  I  lived-with  your 
honor  ten  years,  and  you  must  know  somewhat  of  my 
temper,"  said  Jackson,  with  the  self-satisfaction  of  an  ap- 
proving conscience  ;  "  but  Sam  Daniels  is  a  man  who  is 
never  easy  unless  he  is  left  quietly  at  the  top  of  the  lad- 
der ;  however,"  continued  the  host,  with  a  chuckle,  "I 
have  given  him  a  dose  lately." 

"  How  so,  Jackson  ?  "  inquired  the  baronet,  willing  to 
gratify  the  man's  wish  to  relate  his  triumphs. 

"Your  honor  must  have  heard  mention  made  of  a  great 
lord,  the  Duke  of  Derwent  ;  well,  Sir  Edward,  about  six 
weeks  agone,  he  passed  through  with  my  Lord  Chatterton." 

"  Chatterton  !"  exclaimed  John,  interrupting  him,  "has 
he  been  so  near  us  again,  and  so  lately  ? " 


PR  EC  A  UTION'.  133 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Moseley,"  replied  Jackson,  with  a  look  of 
importance  ;  "they  dashed  into  my  yard  with  their  chaise 
and  four,  with  five  servants,  and  would  you  think  it,  Sir 
Edward,  they  hadn't  been  in  the  house  ten  minutes,  be- 
fore Daniel's  son  was  fishing  from  the  servants  who  they 
were ;  I  told  him,  Sir  Edward — dukes  don't  come  every 
day." 

"  How  came  you  to  get  his  grace  away  from  the  Dun 
Cow — chance  ? " 

"  No,  your  honor,"  said  the  host,  pointing  to  his  sign, 
and  bowing  reverently  to  his  old  master,  "the  Moseley 
Arms  did  it.  Mr.  Daniels  used  to  taunt  me  with  having 
worn  a  livery,  and  has  said  more  than  once  he  could  milk 
his  cow,  but  that  your  honor's  arms  would  never  lift  me 
into  a  comfortable  seat  for  life  ;  so  I  just  sent  him  a  mes- 
sage by  the  way  of  letting  him  know  my  good  fortune, 
your  honor." 

"And  what  was  it  ?" 

"  Only  that  your  honor's  arms  had  shoved  a  duke  and 
a  baron  into  my  house — that's  all." 

"And  I  suppose  Daniels'  legs  shoved  your  messenger 
out  of  his,"  said  John,  laughing. 

"  No,  Mr.  Moseley  ;  Daniels  would  hardly  dare  do  that : 
but  yesterday,  your  honor,  yesterday  evening,  beat  every- 
thing. Daniels  was  seated  before  his  door,  and  I  was  tak- 
ing a  pipe  at  mine,  Sir  Edward,  as  a  coach  and  six,  with 
servants  upon  servants,  drove  down  the  street  ;  it  got  near 
us,  and  the  boys  were  reining  the  horses  into  the  yard  of 
the  Dun  Cow,  as  the  gentleman  in  the  coach  saw  my  sign; 
he  sent  a  groom  to  inquire  who  kept  the  house  ;  I  got  up, 
your  honor,  and  told  him  my  name,  sir.  '  Mr.  Jackson,' 
said  his  lordship,  '  my  respect  for  the  family  of  Sir  Edward 
Moseley  is  too  great  not  to  give  my  custom  to  an  old  ser- 
vant of  his  family.'  " 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  baronet ;  "pray,  who  was  my  lord  ?" 

"The  Earl  of  Pendennyss,  your  honor.  Oh,  he  is  a 
sweet  gentleman,  and  he  asked  all  about  my  living  with 
your  honor,  and  about  Madam  Wilson." 

"Did  his  lordship  stay  the  night?"  inquired  Mrs.  Wil- 
son, excessively  gratified  at  a  discovery  of  the  disposition 
manifested  by  the  earl  toward  her. 

"  Yes,  madam,  he  left  here  after  breakfast." 

"What  message  did  you  send  the  Dun  Cow  this  time, 
Jackson  ?"  cried  John. 

Jackson  looked  a  little  foolish,  but  the  question  being 


134  PRECA  UTION. 

repeated,  be  answered — "  Why,  sir,  I  was  a  little  crowded 
for  room,  and  so,  your  honor,  so  I  just  sent  Tom  across 
the  street  to  know  if  Mr.  Daniels  couldn't  keep  a  couple 
of  the  grooms." 

"  And  Tom  got  his  head  broke  ? " 

"  No,  Mr.  John,  the  tankard  missed  him  ;  but  if" 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  baronet,  willing  to  change  the 
conversation,  "  you  have  been  so  fortunate  of  late,  you  can 
afford  to  be  generous  ;  and  I  advise  you  to  cultivate  har- 
mony with  your  neighbor,  or  I  may  take  my  arms  down, 
and  you  may  lose  your  noble  visitors — see  my  room  pre- 
pared." 

"  Yes,  your  honor,"  said  the  host,  and  bowing  respect- 
fully he  withdrew. 

"  At  least,  aunt,"  cried  John,  pleasantly,  "  we  have  the 
pleasure  of  supping  in  the  same  room  with  the  puissant 
earl,  albeit  there  be  twenty-four  hours'  difference  in  the 
time." 

"  I  sincerely  wish  there  had  not  been  that  difference," 
observed  his  father,  taking  his  sister  kindly  by  the  hand. 

"  Such  an  equipage  must  have  been  a  harvest  indeed  to 
Jackson,"  remarked  the  mother,  as  they  broke  up  for  the 
evening. 

The  whole  establishment  at  Benfield  Lodge  were  drawn 
up  to  receive  them  on  the  following  day  in  the  great  hall, 
and  in  the  centre  was  fixed  the  upright  and  lank  figure  of 
its  master,  with  his  companion  in  leanness,  honest  Peter 
Johnson,  on  his  right. 

"  I  have  made  out,  Sir  Edward  and  my  Lady  Moseley, 
to  get  as  far  as  my  entrance,  to  receive  the  favor  you  are 
conferring  upon  me.  It  was  a  rule  in  my  day,  and  one  in- 
variably practised  by  all  the  great  nobility,  such  as  Lord 
Gosford — and — and — his  sister,  the  Lady  Juliana  Dayton, 
always  to  receive  and  quit  their  guests  in  the  country  at 
the  great  entrance  ;  and  in  conformity — ah,  Emmy,  dear," 
cried  the  old  gentleman,  folding  her  in  his  arms,  as  the 
tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks,  forgetting  his  speech  in  the 
warmth  of  his  feeling,  "  You  are  saved  to  us  again  ;  God 
be  praised — there,  that  will  do,  let  me  breathe — let  me 
breathe  ;  "  and  then,  by  the  way  of  getting  rid  of  his  softer 
feelings,  he  turned  upon  John  ;  "  So,  youngster,  you  would 
be  playing  with  edge  tools,  and  put  the  life  of  your  sister 
in  danger.  No  gentleman  held  a  gun  in  my  day  ;  that  is, 
no  gentleman  about  the  court.  My  Lord  Gosford  had 
never  killed  a  bird  in  his  life?  or  drove  his  horse  ;  no,  sir, 


PR  EC  A  UT1ON.  135 

gentlemen  then  were  not  coachmen.  Peter,  how  old  was 
I  before  I  took  the  reins  of  the  chaise,  in  driving  round 
the  estate — the  time  you  broke  your  arm  ?  it  was  " 

Peter,  who  stood  a  little  behind  his  master,  in  modest 
retirement,  and  who  had  only  thought  his  elegant  form 
brought  thither  to  embellish  the  show,  when  called  upon, 
advanced  a  step,  made  a  low  bow,  and  answered  in  his 
sharp  key : 

"  In  the  year  1798,  your  honor,  and  the  38th  of  his  pres- 
ent majesty,  and  the  64th  year  of  your  life,  sir,  June  the 
1 2th,  about  meridian." 

Peter  dropped  back  as  he  finished  ;  but  recollecting  him- 
self, regained  his  place  with  a  bow,  as  he  added,  "new  style." 

"  How  are  you,  old  style  ?  "  cried  John,  with  a  slap  on 
the  back  that  made  the  steward  jump  again. 

"  Mr.  John  Moseley — young  gentleman" — a  term  Peter 
had  left  off  using  to  the  baronet  within  the  last  ten  years, 
"did  you  think — to  bring  home — the  goggles  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  John,  gravely,  producing  them  from  his 
pocket.  Most  of  the  party  having  entered  the  parlor,  he 
put  them  carefully  on  the  bald  head  of  the  steward — 
"  There,  Mr.  Peter  Johnson,  you  have  your  property  again, 
safe  and  sound." 

"  And  Mr.  Denbigh  said  he  felt  much  indebted  to  your 
consideration  in  sending  them,"  said  Emily,  soothingly,  as 
she  took  them  off  with  her  beautiful  hands. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Emmy,"  said  the  steward,  with  one  of  his 
best  bows,  "  that  was — a  noble  act ;  God  bless  him  !  "  then 
holding  up  his  finger  significantly,  "  the  fourteenth  codicil 
— to  master's  will,"  and  Peter  laid  his  finger  alongside  his 
nose,  as  he  nodded  his  head  in  silence. 

"  I  hope  the  thirteenth  contains  the  name  of  honest 
Peter  Johnson,"  said  the  young  lady,  who  felt  herself  un- 
commonly well  pleased  with  the  steward's  conversation. 

"  As  witness,  Miss  Emmy — witness  to  all — but  God  for- 
bid," said  the  steward  with  solemnity,  "  I  should  ever  live 
to  see  the  proving  of  them:  no,  Miss  Emmy,  master  has 
done  for  me  what  he  intended,  while  I  had  youth  to  enjoy 
it.  I  am  rich,  Miss  Emmy — good  three  hundred  a  year." 

Emily,  who  had  seldom  heard  so  long  a  speech  as  the 
old  man's  gratitude  drew  from  him,  expressed  her  pleasure 
at.  hearing  it,  and  shaking  him  kindly  by  the  hand,  left 
him  for  the  parlor. 

"Niece,"  said  Mr.  Benfield,  having  scanned  the  party 
closely  with  his  eyes,  "  where  is  Colonel  Denbigh  ? " 


136  PKECA  UTION. 

"Colonel  Egerton,  you  mean,  sir,*1  interrupted  Lady 
Moseley. 

"No,  my  Lady  Moseley,"  replied  her  uncle,  with  great 
formality,  "  I  mean  Colonel  Denbigh.  I  take  it  he  is  a 
colonel  by  this  time,"  looking  expressively  at  the  baronet ; 
"and  who  is  fitter  to  be  a  colonel  or  a  general  than  a  man 
who  is  not  afraid  of  gunpowder  ?" 

"Colonels  must  have  been  scarce  in  your  youth,  sir,' 
cried  John,  who  had  rather  a  mischievous  propensity  to 
start  the  old  man  on  his  hobby. 

"No,  jackanapes,  gentlemen  killed  one  another  then,  al- 
though they  did  not  torment  the  innocent  birds  :  honor 
was  as  dear  to  a  gentleman  of  George  the  Second's  court 
as  to  those  of  his  grandson's,  and  honesty,  too,  sirrah — 
aye,  honesty.  I  remember  when  we  were  in,  there  was 
not  a  man  of  doubtful  integrity  in  the  ministry,  or  on  our 
side  even  ;  and  then  again,  when  we  went  out,  the  opposi- 
tion benches  were  filled  with  sterling  characters,  making  a 
parliament  that  was  correct  throughout.  Can  you  show 
me  such  a  thing  at  this  day  ?" 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

A  FEW  days  after  the  arrival  of  the   Moseleys  at   the 

lodge,  John  drove  his  sisters  to  the  little  village  of  L , 

which  at  that  time  was  thronged  with  an  unusual  number 
of  visitors.  It  had,  among  other  fashionable  arrangements 
for  the  accommodation  of  its  guests,  one  of  those  circula- 
tors of  good  and  evil,  a  public  library.  Books  are,  in  a 
great  measure,  the  instruments  of  controlling  the  opinions 
of  a  nation  like  ours.  They  are  an  engine,  alike  powerful 
to  save  or  to  destroy.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  our  libra- 
ries contain  as  many  volumes  of  the  latter  as  the  former 
description  ;  for  we  rank  among  the  latter  that  long  cata- 
logue of  idle  productions,  which,  if  they  produce  no  other 
evil,  lead  to  the  misspending  of  time,  our  own  perhaps  in- 
cluded. But  we  cannot  refrain  expressing  our  regret,  that 
such  formidable  weapons  in  the  cause  of  morality,  should 
be  suffered  to  be  wielded  by  any  indifferent  or  mercenary 
dealer,  who  undoubtedly  will  consult  rather  the  public 
tastes  than  the  private  good:  the  evil  may  be  remediless, 
yet  we  love  to  express  our  sentiments,  though  we  should 
suggest  nothing  new  or  even  profitable.  Into  one  of  these 


PRECA  UTION.  137 

haunts  of  the  idle,  then,  John  Moseley  entered,  with  a  lovely 
sister  leaning  on  either  arm.  Books  were  the  entertainers  of 
Jane,  and  instructors  of  Emily.  Sir  Edward  was  fond  of 
reading  of  a  certain  sort — that  which  required  no  great  depth 
of  thought,  or  labor  of  research  ;  and,  like  most  others 
who  are  averse  to  contention,  and  disposed  to  be  easily 
satisfied,  the  baronet  sometimes  found  he  had  harbored 
opinions  on  things  not  exactly  reconcilable  with  the  truth, 
or  even  with  each  other.  It  is  quite  as  dangerous  to  give  up 
your  faculties  to  the  guidance  of  the  author  you  are  perus- 
ing, as  it  is  unprofitable  to  be  captiously  scrutinizing  every 
syllable  he  may  happen  to  advance  ;  and  Sir  Edward  was, 
if  anything,  a  little  inclined  to  the  dangerous  propensity. 
Unpleasant  Sir  Edward  Moseley  never  was.  Lady  Moseley 
very  seldom  took  a  book  in  her  hand:  her  opinions  were 
established  to  her  own  satisfaction  on  all  important  points, 
and  on  the  minor  ones  she  made  it  a  rule  to  coincide  with 
the  popular  feeling.  Jane  had  a  mind  more  active  than 
her  father,  and  more  brilliant  than  her  mother  ;  and  if  she 
had  not  imbibed  injurious  impressions  from  the  unlicensed 
and  indiscriminate  reading  she  practised,  it  was  more 
owing  to  the  fortunate  circumstance,  that  the  baronet's 
library  contained  nothing  extremely  offensive  to  a  pure 
taste,  nor  dangerous  to  good  morals,  than  to  any  precau- 
tion of  her  parents  against  the  deadly,  the  irretrievable  in- 
jury to  be  sustained  from  ungoverned  liberty  in  this  re- 
spect, to  a  female  mind.  On  the  other  hand,  Mrs.  Wilson 
had  inculcated  the  necessity  of  restraint,  in  selecting  the 
books  for  her  perusal,  so  strenuously  on  her  niece,  tha" 
what  at  first  had  been  the  effects  of  obedience  and  sub- 
mission, had  now  settled  into  taste  and  habit ;  and  Emily 
seldom  opened  a  book,  unless  in  search  of  information  ; 
or  if  it  were  the  indulgence  of  a  less  commendable  spirit, 
it  was  an  indulgence  chastened  by  a  taste  and  judgment 
that  lessened  the  danger,  if  it  did  not  entirely  remove  it. 

The  room  was  filled  with  gentlemen  and  ladies  ;  and, 
while  John  was  exchanging  his  greetings  with  several  of 
the  neighboring  gentry  of  his  acquaintance,  his  sisters  were 
running  hastily  over  a  catalogue  of  the  books  kept  for  cir- 
culation, as  an  elderly  lady,  of  foreign  accent  and  dress, 
entered  ;  and,  depositing  a  couple  of  religious  works  on 
the  counter,  she  inquired  for  the  remainder  of  the  set.  The 
peculiarity  of  her  idiom  and  her  proximity  to  the  sisters 
caused  them  both  to  look  up  at  the  moment,  and,  to  the 
surprise  of  Jane,  her  sister  uttered  a  slight  exclamation  of 


/3S  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

pleasure.  The  foreigner  was  attracted  by  the  sound,  and, 
after  a  moment's  hesitation,  she  respectfully  courtesied. 
Emily,  advancing,  kindly  offered  her  hand,  and  the  usual 
inquiries  after  each  other's  welfare  succeeded.  To  the 
questions  asked  after  the  friend  of  the  matron,  Emily 
learned,  with  some  surprise,  and  no  less  satisfaction,  that 

she  resided  in  a  retired  cottage,  about  five  miles  from  L , 

where  they  had  been  for  the  last  six  months,  and  where 
they  expected  to  remain  for  some  time,  "until  she  could 
prevail  on  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  to  return  to  Spain  ;  a  thing, 
now  there  was  peace,  of  which  she  did  not  despair."  After 
asking  leave  to  call  on  them  in  their  retreat,  and  exchang- 
ing good  wishes,  the  Spanish  lady  withdrew,  and,  as  Jane 
had  made  her  selection,  was  followed  immediately  by  John 
Moseley  and  his  sisters.  Emily,  in  their  walk  home,  ac- 
quainted her  brother  that  the  companion  of  their  Bath 
incognita  had  been  at  the  library,  and  that  for  the  first 
time  she  had  learned  that  their  young  acquaintance  was, 
or  had  been,  married,  and  her  name.  John  listened  to  his 
sister  with  the  interest  which  the  beautiful  Spaniard  had 
excited  at  the  time  they  first  met,  and  laughingly  told  her 
he  could  not  believe  their  unknown  friend  had  ever  been 
a  wife.  To  satisfy  this  doubt,  and  to  gratify  a  wish  they 
both  had  to  renew  their  acquaintance  with  the  foreigner, 
they  agreed  to  drive  to  the  cottage  the  following  morning, 
accompanied  by  Mrs.  Wilson  and  Jane,  if  she  would  go  ; 
but  the  next  day  was  the  one  appointed  by  Egerton  for  his 
arrival  at  L ,  and  Jane,  under  a  pretence  of  writing  let- 
ters, declined  the  excursion.  She  had  carefully  examined 
the  papers  since  his  departure  ;  had  seen  his  name  included 
in  the  arrivals  at  London  ;  and,  at  a  later  day,  had  read  an 
account  of  the  review  by  the  commander-in-chief  of  the 
regiment  to  which  he  belonged.  He  had  never  written  to 
any  of  her  friends  ;  but,  judging  from  her  own  feelings, 
she  did  not  in  the  least  doubt  he  would  be  as  punctual  as 
love  could  make  him.  Mrs.  Wilson  listened  to  her  niece's 
account  of  the  unexpected  interview  in  the  library  with 
pleasure,  and  cheerfully  promised  to  accompany  them  in 
their  morning's  excursion,  as  she  had  both  a  wish  to  alle- 
viate sorrow,  and  a  desire  to  better  understand  the  character 
of  this  accidental  acquaintance  of  Emily's. 

Mr.  Benfield  and  the  baronet  had  a  long  conversation  in 
relation  to  Denbigh's  fortune  the  morning  after  their  arri- 
val ;  and  the  old  man  was  loud  in  his  expression  of  dissat' 
isfaction  at  the  youngster's  pride.  As  the  baronet,  how- 


139 

ever,  in  the  fulness  of  his  affection  and  simplicity,  betrayed 
to  his  uncle  his  expectation  of  a  union  between  Denbigh 
and  his  daughter,  Mr.  Benfield  became  contented  with  his 
reward  ;  one  fit,  he  thought,  for  any  services.  On  the 
whole,  "  it  was  best,  as  he  was  to  marry  Emmy,  he  should 
sell  out  of  the  army  ;  and,  as  there  would  be  an  election 
soon,  he  would  bring  him  into  parliament — yes — yes — it 
did  a  man  so  much  good  to  sit  one  term  in  the  parliament 
of  this  realm — to  study  human  nature.  All  his  own  knowl- 
edge in  that  way  was  raised  on  the  foundations  laid  in  the 
House."  To  this  Sir  Edward  cordially  assented,  and  the 
gentlemen  separated,  happy  in  their  arrangements  to  ad- 
vance the  welfare  of  two  beings  they  so  sincerely  loved. 

Although  the  care  and  wisdom  of  Mrs.  Wilson  had  pro- 
hibited the  admission  of  any  romantic  or  enthusiastic  ex- 
pectations of  happiness  into  the  day-dreams  of  her  charge, 
yet  the  buoyancy  of  health,  of  hope,  of  youth,  of  inno- 
cence, had  elevated  Emily  to  a  height  of  enjoyment  hith- 
erto unknown  to  her  usually  placid  and  disciplined  pleas- 
ures. Denbigh  certainly  mingled  in  most  of  her  thoughts, 
both  of  the  past  and  the  future,  and  she  stood  on  the 
threshold  of  that  fantastic  edifice  in  which  Jane  ordinarily 
resided.  Emily  was  in  the  situation  perhaps  the  most  dan- 
gerous to  a  young  female  Christian  :  her  heart,  her  affec- 
tions, were  given  to  a  man,  to  appearance,  every  way 
worthy  qf  possessing  them,  it  is  true  ;  but  she  had  admit- 
ted a  rival  in  her  love  to  her  Maker  ;  and  to  keep  those 
feelings  distinct,  to  bend  the  passions  in  due  submission  to 
the  more  powerful  considerations  of  endless  duty  of  un- 
bounded gratitude,  is  one  of  the  most  trying  struggles  of 
Christian  fortitude.  We  are  much  more  apt  to  forget  our 
God  in  prosperity  than  adversity.  The  weakness  of  human 
nature  drives  us  to  seek  assistance  in  distress  ;  but  vanity 
and  worldly-mindedness  often  induce  us  to  imagine  we 
control  the  happiness  we  only  enjoy. 

Sir  Edward  and  Lady  Moseley  could  see  nothing  in  the 
prospect  of  the  future  but  lives  of  peace  and  contentment 
for  their  children.  Clara  was  happily  settled,  and  her  sis- 
ters were  on  the  eve  of  making  connections  with  men  of 
family,  condition,  and  certain  character.  What  more  could 
be  done  for  them  ?  They  must,  like  other  people,  take 
their  chances  in  the  lottery  of  life  ;  they  could  only  hope 
and  pray  for  their  prosperity,  and  this  they  did  with  great 
sincerity.  Not  so  Mrs.  Wilson  ;  she  had  guarded  the  in- 
valuable charge  intrusted  to  her  keeping  with  too  much 


140  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

assiduity,  too  keen  an  interest,  too  just  a  sense  of  the  awful 
responsibility  she  had  undertaken,  to  desert  her  post  at  the 
moment  watchfulness  was  most  required.  By  a  temperate, 
but  firm  and  well-chosen  conversation  she  kept  alive  the 
sense  of  her  real  condition  in  her  niece,  and  labored  hard 
to  prevent  the  blandishments  of  life  from  supplanting  the 
lively  hope  of  enjoying  another  existence.  She  endeavored, 
by  her  pious  example,  her  prayers,  and  her  judicious  allu- 
sions, to  keep  the  passion  of  love  in  the  breast  of  Emily 
secondary  to  the  more  important  object  of  her  creation  ; 
and  by  the  aid  of  a  kind  and  Almighty  Providence,  her  la- 
bors, though  arduous,  were  crowned  with  success. 

As  the  family  were  seated  round  the  table  after  dinner, 
on  the  day  of  their  walk  to  the  library,  John  Moseley, 
awakening  from  a  reverie,  exclaimed  suddenly, 

"Which  do  you  think  the  handsomest,  Emily — Grace 
Chatterton  or  Miss  Fitzgerald  ?  " 

Emily  laughed,  as  she  answered,  "  Grace,  certainly  ;  do 
you  not  think  so,  brother?" 

"  Yes,  on  the  whole  ;  but  don't  you  think  Grace  looks 
like  her  mother  at  times  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  she  is  the  image  of  Chatterton." 

11  She  is  very  like  yourself,  Emmy  dear,"  said  Mr.  Ben- 
field,  who  was  listening  to  their  conversation. 

"  Me,  dear  uncle  ?  I  have  never  heard  it  remarked 
before." 

"  Yes,  yes,  she  is  as  much  like  you  as  she  can  stare.  I 
never  saw  as  great  a  resemblance,  excepting  between  you 
and  Lady  Juliana — Lady  Juliana,  Emmy,  was  a  beauty  in 
her  day  ;  very  like  her  uncle,  old  Admiral  Griffin — you 
can't  remember  the  admiral — he  lost  an  eye  in  a  battle 
with  the  Dutch,  and  part  of  his  cheek  in  a  frigate,  when  a 
young  man  fighting  the  Dons.  Oh,  he  was  a  pleasant  old 
gentleman  ;  many  a  guinea  has  he  given  me  when  I  was  a 
boy  at  school." 

"  And  he  looked  like  Grace  Chatterton,  uncle,  did  he  ?  " 
asked  John,  innocently. 

"  No,  sir,  he  did  not  ;  who  said  he  looked  liked  Grace 
Chatterton,  jackanapes  ?*' 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  made  it  out,  sir :  but  perhaps  it 
was  the  description  that  deceived  me — his  eye  and  cheek, 
uncle." 

"Did  Lord  Gosford  leave  children,  uncle  ?"  inquired 
Emily,  throwing  a  look  of  reproach  at  John. 

"No,  Emmy  dear ;  his  only  child,  a  son,  died  at  school 


PRECA  UTION.  I4I 

I  shall  never  forget  the  grief  of  poor  Lady  Juliana.  She 
postponed  a  visit  to  Bath  three  weeks  on  account  of  it.  A 
gentleman  who  was  paying  his  addresses  to  her  at  the  time, 
offered  then,  and  was  refused — indeed,  her  self-denial 
raised  such  an  admiration  of  her  in  the  men,  that  immedi- 
ately after  the  death  of  young  Lord  Dayton,  no  less  than 
seven  gentlemen  offered,  and  were  refused  in  one  week.  I 
heard  Lady  Juliana  say,  that  what  between  lawyers  and 
suitors,  she  had  not  a  moment's  peace." 

"  Lawyers  ? "  cried  Sir  Edward  :  "  what  had  she  to  do 
with  lawyers  ? " 

"  Why,  Sir  Edward,  six  thousand  a  year  fell  to  her  by 
the  death  of  her  nephew  ;  and  there  were  trustees  and 
deeds  to  be  made  out — poor  young  woman,  she  was  so 
affected,  Emmy,  I  don't  think  she  went  out  for  a  week- 
all  the  time  at  home  reading  papers,  and  attending  to  her 
important  concerns.  Oh  !  she  was  a  woman  of  taste  ;  her 
mourning,  and  liveries,  and  new  carriage,  were  more  ad- 
mired than  those  of  any  one  about  the  court.  Yes,  yes, 
the  title  is  extinct ;  I  know  of  none  of  the  name  now. 
The  earl  did  not  survive  his  loss  but  six  years,  and  the 
countess  died  broken-hearted,  about  a  twelvemonth  before 
him." 

"  And  Lady  Juliana,  uncle,"  inquired  John,  "  what  be- 
came of  her  ;  did  she  marry  ?  " 

The  old  man  helped  himself  to  a  glass  of  wine,  and 
looked  over  his  shoulder  to  see  if  Peter  was  at  hand. 
Peter,  who  had  been  originally  butler,  and  had  made  it  a 
condition  of  his  preferment,  that  whenever  there  was  com- 
pany, he  should  be  allowed  to  preside  at  the  sideboard, 
was  now  at  his  station.  Mr.  Benfield,  seeing  his  old  friend 
near  him,  ventured  to  talk  on  a  subject  he  seldom  trusted 
himself  with  in  company. 

"  Why,  yes — yes — she  did  marry,  it's  true,  although  she 
did  tell  me  she  intended  to  die  a  maid  ;  but — hem — I  sup- 
pose— hem — it  was  compassion  for  the  old  viscount,  who 
often  said  he  could  not  live  without  her  ;  and  then  it  gave 
her  the  power  of  doing  so  much  good,  a  jointure  of  five 
thousand  a  year  added  to  her  own  income  :  yet — hem — I 
do  confess  I  did  not  think  she  would  have  chosen  such  an 
old  and  infirm  man — but,  Peter,  give  me  a  glass  of  claret." 
Peter  handed  the  claret,  and  the  old  man  proceeded : 
"  They  say  he  was  very  cross  to  her,  and  that,  no  doubt, 
must  have  made  her  unhappy,  she  was  so  very  tender- 
hearted." 


142  PRECA  UTION. 

How  much  longer  the  old  gentleman  would  have  con- 
tinued in  this  strain,  it  is  impossible  to  say  ;  but  he  was 
interrupted  by  the  opening  of  the  parlor  door,  and  the 
sudden  appearance  on  its  threshold  of  Denbigh.  Every 
countenance  glowed  with  pleasure  at  this  unexpected  re- 
turn  of  their  favorite  ;  and  but  for  the  prudent  caution  of 
Mrs.  Wilson,  in  handing  a  glass  of  water  to  her  niece, 
the  surprise  might  have  proved  too  much  for  her.  The 
salutations  of  Denbigh  were  returned  by  the  different 
members  of  the  family  with  a  cordiality  that  must  have 
told  him  how  much  he  was  valued  by  all  its  branches  ;  and 
after  briefly  informing  them  that  his  interview  was  over, 
and  that  he  had  thrown  himself  into  a  chaise  and  travelled 
post  until  he  had  rejoined  them,  he  took  his  seat  by  Mr. 
Benfield,  who  received  him  with  a  marked  preference, 
exceeding  that  which  he  had  shown  to  any  man  who  had 
ever  entered  his  doors,  Lord  Gosford  himself  not  excepted. 
Peter  removed  from  his  station  behind  his  master's  chair 
to  one  where  he  could  face  the  new  comer  ;  and  after 
wiping  his  eyes  until  they  filled  so  rapidly  with  water  that 
at  last  he  was  noticed  by  the  delighted  John  to  put  on  the 
identical  goggles  which  his  care  had  provided  for  Denbigh 
in  his  illness,  his  laugh  drew  the  attention  of  the  rest  to 
the  honest  steward,  and  when  Denbigh  was  told  this  was 
Mr.  Benfield's  ambassador  to  the  Hall,  he  rose  from  his 
chair,  and  taking  the  old  man  by  the  hand,  kindlv  thanked 
him  for  his  thoughtful  consideration  for  his  weak  eyes. 

Peter  took  the  offered  hand  in  both  his  own,  and  after 
making  one  or  two  unsuccessful  efforts  to  speak,  he  ut- 
tered, "  Thank  you,  thank  you  !  may  Heaven  bless  you," 
and  burst  into  tears.  This  stopped  the  laugh,  and  'John 
followed  the  steward  from  the  room,  while  his  master  ex- 
claimed, wiping  his  eyes,  "  Kind  and  condescending  ;  just 
such  another  as  my  old  friend,  the  Earl  of  Gosford." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

AT  the  appointed  hour,  the  carriage  of  Mrs.  Wilson  was 
ready  to  convey  herself  and  niece  to  the  cottage  of  Mrs. 
Fitzgerald.  John  was  left  behind,  under  the  pretence  of 
keeping  Denbigh  company  in  his  morning  avocations,  but 
really  because  Mrs.  Wilson  doubted  the  propriety  of  his 


PRECA  UTION.  143 

becoming  a  visiting  acquaintance  at  the  house,  tenanted  as 
the  cottage  was  represented  to  be.  John  was  too  fond  of 
his  friend  to  make  any  serious  objections,  and  was  satis- 
fied for  the  present  by  sending  his  compliments,  and 
requesting  his  sister  to  ask  permission  for  him  to  call  in 
one  of  his  morning  excursions,  in  order  to  pay  his  personal 
respects. 

They  found  the  cottage  a  beautiful  and  genteel,  though 
a  very  small  and  retired  dwelling,  almost  hid  by  the  trees 
and  shrubs  which  surrounded  it,  and  its  mistress  in  its  little 
veranda,  expecting  the  arrival  of  Emily.  Mrs.  Fitzgerald 
was  a  Spaniard,  under  twenty,  of  a  melancholy,  yet  highly 
interesting  countenance  ;  her  manners  were  soft  and  re- 
tiring, but  evidently  bore  the  impression  of  good  company, 
if  not  of  high  life.  She  was  extremely  pleased  with  this 
renewal  of  attention  on  the  part  of  Emily,  and  expressed 
her  gratitude  to  both  ladies  for  their  kindness  in  seeking 
her  out  in  her  solitude.  She  presented  her  more  matronly 
companion  to  them,  by  the  name  of  Donna  Lorenza ;  and 
as  nothing  but  good  feeling  prevailed,  and  useless  cere- 
mony was  banished,  the  little  party  were  soon  on  terms  of 
friendly  intercourse.  The  young  widow  (for  such  her 
dress  indicated  her  to  be)  did  the  honors  of  her  house 
with  graceful  ease,  and  conducted  her  visitors  into  her 
little  grounds,  which,  together  with  the  cottage,  gave  evi- 
dent proofs  of  the  taste  and  elegance  of  its  occupant.  The 
establishment  she  supported  she  represented  as  very  small  ; 
two  women  and  an  aged  man  servant,  with  occasionally  a 
laborer  for  the  garden  and  shrubbery.  They  never  visited  ; 
it  was  a  resolution  she  had  made  on  fixing  her  residence 
here,  but  if  Mrs.  Wilson  and  Miss  Moseley  would  forgive 
the  rudeness  of  not  returning  their  call,  nothing  would 
give  her  more  satisfaction  than  a  frequent  renewal  of  their 
visits.  Mrs.  Wilson  took  so  deep  an  interest  in  the  mis- 
fortunes of  this  young  female,  and  was  so  much  pleased 
with  the  modest  resignation  of  her  manner,  that  it  required 
little  persuasion  on  the  part  of  the  recluse  to  obtain  a  prom- 
ise of  soon  repeating  her  visit.  Emily  mentioned  the  re- 
quest of  John,  and  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  received  it  with  a 
mournful  smile,  as  she  replied  that  Mr.  Moseley  had  laid 
her  under  such  an  obligation  in  their  first  interview,  she 
could  not  deny  herself  the  pleasure  of  again  thanking  him 
for  it ;  but  she  must  be  excused  if  she  desired  they  would 
limit  their  attendants  to  him,  as  there  was  but  one  gentle- 
man in  England  whose  visits  she  admitted,  and  it  was  sel* 


144  PRECA  UTION-. 

dom  indeed  he  called  ;  he  had  seen  her  but  once  since  she 
had  resided  in  Norfolk. 

After  giving  a  promise  not  to  suffer  any  one  else  to  ac- 
company them,  and  promising  an  early  call  again,  our 
ladies  returned  to  Benfield  Lodge  in  season  to  dress  for 
dinner.  On  entering  the  drawing-room  they  found  the 
elegant  person  of  Colonel  Egerton  leaning  on  the  back 
of  Jane's  chair.  He  had  arrived  during  their  absence, 
and  immediately  sought  the  baronet's  family.  His  recep- 
tion, if  not  as  warm  as  that  given  to  Denbigh,  was  cordial 
from  all  but  the  master  of  the  house  ;  and  even  he  was  in 
such  spirits  by  the  company  around  him,  and  the  pros- 
pects of  Emily's  marriage  (which  he  considered  as  set- 
tled), that  he  forced  hiinself  to  an  appearance  of  good- 
will he  did  not  feel.  Colonel  Egerton  was  either  deceived 
by  his  manner,  or  too  much  a  man  of  the  world  to  discov- 
er his  suspicion,  and  everything  in  consequence  was  very 
harmoniously,  if  not  sincerely,  conducted  between  them. 

Lady  Moseley  was  completely  happy.  If  she  had  the 
least  doubts  before,  as  to  the  intentions  of  Egerton,  they 
were  now  removed.  His  journey  to  that  unfashionable 
watering-place  was  owing  to  his  passion  ;  and  however 
she  might  at  times  have  doubted  as  to  Sir  Edgar's  heir, 
Denbigh  she  thought  a  man  of  too  little  consequence  in 
the  world,  to  make  it  possible  he  would  neglect  to  profit 
by  his  situation  in  the  family  of  Sir  Edward  Moseley. 
She  was  satisfied  with  both  connections.  Mr.  Benfield 
had  told  her  General  Sir  Frederick  Denbigh  was  nearly 
allied  to  the  Duke  of  Derwent,  and  Denbigh  had  said  the 
general  was  his  grandfather.  Wealth  she  knew  Emily 
would  possess  from  both  her  uncle  and  aunt  ;  and  the 
services  of  the  gentleman  had  their  due  weight  upon  the 
feelings  of  the  affectionate  mother.  The  greatest  of  her 
maternal  anxieties  was  removed,  and  she  looked  forward 
to  the  peaceful  enjoyment  of  the  remnant  of  her  days  in 
the  bosom  of  her  descendants.  John,  the  heir  of  a  baron- 
etcy and  15,000  pounds  a  year,  might  suit  himself  ;  and 
Grace  Chatterton,  she  thought,  would  be  likely  to  prove 
the  future  Lady  Moseley.  Sir  Edward,  without  entering 
so  deeply  into  anticipations  of  the  future  as  his  wife,  ex- 
perienced an  equal  degree  of  contentment  ;  and  it  would 
have  been  a  difficult  task  to  discover  in  the  island  a  roof, 
under  which  there  resided  at  the  moment  more  happy 
countenances  than  at  Benfield  Lodge  ;  for  as  its  master 
had  insisted  on  Denbigh  becoming  an  inmate,  he  was 


PR  EC  A  UTION.  145 

obliged  to  extend  his  hospitality  in  an  equal  degree  tu 
Colonel  Egerton  :  indeed,  the*subject  had  been  fully  can- 
vassed between  him  and  Peter  the  morning  of  his  arrival, 
and  was  near  being  decided  against  his  admission,  when 
the  steward,  who  had  picked  up  all  the  incidents  of  the 
arbor  scene  from  the  servants  (and  of  course  with  many 
exaggerations),  mentioned  to  his  master  that  the  colonel 
was  very  active,  and  that  he  even  contrived  to  bring  water 
to  revive  Miss  Emmy  a  great  distance,  in  the  hat  of  Cap- 
tain Jarvis,  which  was  full  of  holes,  Mr.  John  having 
blown  it  off  the  head  of  the  captain  without  hurting  a 
hair,  in  firing  at  a  woodcock.  This  mollified  the  master  a 
little,  and  he  agreed  to  suspend  his  decision  for  further 
observation.  At  dinner,  the  colonel  happening  to  admire 
the  really  handsome  face  of  Lord  Gosford,  as  delineated 
by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  which  graced  the  dining-room  of 
Benfield  Lodge,  its  master,  in  a  moment  of  unusual  kind- 
ness, gave  the  invitation  ;  it  was  politely  accepted,  and 
the  colonel  at  once  domesticated. 

The  face  of  John  Moseley  alone,  at  times,  exhibited  evi- 
dences of  care  and  thought,  and  at  such  moments  it  might 
be  a  subject  of  doubt  whether  he  thought  the  most  of  Grace 
Chatterton  or  her  mother :  if  the  latter,  the  former  was 
sure  to  lose  ground  in  his  estimation  ;  a  serious  misfortune 
to  John,  not  to  be  able  to  love  Grace  without  alloy.  His 
letters  from  her  brother  mentioned  his  being  still  at  Den- 
bigh Castle,  in  Westmoreland,  the  seat  of  his  friend  the 
Duke  of  Derwent ;  and  John  thought  one  or  two  of  his 
encomiums  on  Lady  Harriet  Denbigh,  the  sister  of  his 
grace,  augured  that  the  unkindness  of  Emily  might  in 
time  be  forgotten.  The  dowager  and  her  daughters  were 
at  the  seat  of  a  maiden  aunt  in  Yorkshire,  where,  as  John 
knew  no  male  animal  was  allowed  admittance,  he  was  tol- 
erably easy  at  the  disposition  of  things.  Nothing  but  leg- 
acy-hunting he  knew  would  induce  the  dowager  to  submit 
to  such  a  banishment  from  the  other  sex  ;  but  that  was 
so  preferable  to  husband-hunting  he  was  satisfied.  "  I 
wish,"  said  John,  mentally,  as  he  finished  the  perusal  of 
his  letter,  "  mother  Chatterton  would  get  married  herself, 
and  she  might  let  Kate  and  Grace  manage  for  themselves. 
Kate  would  do  very  well,  I  dare  say,  and  how  would  Grace 
make  out  ! "  John  sighed,  and  whistled  for  Dido  and 
Rover. 

In  the  manners  of  Colonel  Egerton  there  was  the  same 
general  disposition  to  please,  and  the  same  unremitted  at- 
10 


I46  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

tention  to  the  wishes  and  amusements  of  Jane.  They  haa 
renewed  their  poetical  investigations,  and  Jane  eagerly  en- 
couraged a  taste  whicli  afforded  her  delicacy  some  little 
coloring  for  the  indulgence  of  an  association  different  from 
the  real  truth,  and  which,  in  her  estimation,  was  necessary 
to  her  happiness.  Mrs.  Wilson  thought  the  distance  be- 
tween the  two  suitors  for  the  favor  of  her  nieces  was,  if 
anything,  increased  by  their  short  separation,  and  particu- 
larly noticed  on  the  part  of  the  colonel  an  aversion  to 
Denbigh  that  at  times  painfully  alarmed,  by  exciting  ap- 
prehensions for  the  future  happiness  of  the  precious  treas- 
ure she  had  prepared  herself  to  yield  to  his  solicitations, 
whenever  properly  proffered.  In  the  intercourse  between 
Emily  and  her  preserver,  as  there  was  nothing  to  condemn, 
so  there  was  much  to  admire.  The  attentions  of  Denbigh 
were  pointed,  although  less  exclusive  than  those  of  the 
colonel  :  and  the  aunt  was  pleased  to  observe  that  if  the 
manners  of  Egerton  had  more  of  the  gloss  of  life,  those  of 
Denbigh  were  certainly  distinguished  by  a  more  finished 
delicacy  and  propriety.  The  one  appeared  the  influence 
of  custom  and  association,  with  a  tincture  of  artifice  ;  the 
other,  benevolence,  with  a  just  perception  of  what  was  due 
to  others,  and  with  an  air  of  sincerity,  when  speaking  of 
sentiments  and  principles,  that  was  particularly  pleasing 
to  the  watchful  widow.  At  times,  however,  she  could  not 
but  observe  an  air  of  restraint,  if  not  of  awkwardness,  about 
him  that  was  a  little  surprising.  It  was  most  observable  in 
mixed  society,  and  once  or  twice  her  imagination  pictured 
his  sensations  into  something  like  alarm.  These  unpleas- 
ant interruptions  to  her  admiration  were  soon  forgotten  in 
her  just  appreciation  of  the  more  solid  parts  of  his  charac- 
ter, which  appeared  literally  to  be  unexceptionable  ;  and 
when  momentary  uneasiness  would  steal  over  her,  the  re- 
membrance of  the  opinion  of  Dr.  Ives,  his  behavior  with 
Jarvis,  his  charity,  and  chiefly  his  devotion  to  her  niece, 
would  not  fail  to  drive  the  disagreeable  thoughts  from  her 
mind.  Emily  herself  moved  about,  the  image  of  joy  and 
innocence.  If  Denbigh  were  near  her,  she  was  happy  ;  if 
absent,  she  suffered  no  uneasiness.  Her  feelings  were  so 
ardent,  and  yet  so  pure,  that  jealousy  had  no  admission. 
Perhaps  no  circumstances  existed  to  excite  this  usual  at- 
tendant of  the  passion  ;  but  as  the  heart  of  Emily  was 
more  enchained  than  her  imagination,  her  affections  were 
not  of  the  restless  nature  of  ordinary  attachments,  though 
more  dangerous  to  her  peace  of  mind  in  the  event  of  an 


PRECA  UTION.  147 

unfortunate  issue.  With  Denbigh  she  never  walked  or 
rode  alone.  He  had  never  made  the  request,  and  her  del- 
icacy would  have  shrunk  from  such  an  open  manifestation 
of  her  preference  ;  hut  he  read  to  her  and  her  aunt ;  he 
accompanied  them  in  their  little  excursions  ;  and  once  or 
twice  John  noticed  that  she  took  the  offered  hand  of  Den- 
bigh to  assist  her  over  any  little  impediment  in  their  course, 
instead  of  her  usual  unobtrusive  custom  of  taking  his  arm 
on  such  occasions.  "Well,  Miss  Emily,"  thought  John, 
"  you  appear  to  have  chosen  another  favorite,"  on  her  do- 
ing this  three  times  in  succession  in  one  of  their  walks. 
"  How  strange  it  is  women  will  quit  their  natural  friends 
for  a  face  they  have  hardly  seen."  John  forgot  his  own 
— "  There  is  no  danger,  dear  Grace,"  when  his  sister  was 
almost  dead  with  apprehension.  But  John  loved  Emily 
too  well  to  witness  her  preference  of  another  with  satisfac- 
tion, even  though  Denbigh  was  the  favorite  ;  a  feeling 
which  soon  wore  away,  however,  by  dint  of  custom  and 
reflection.  Mr.  Benfield  had  taken  it  into  his  head  that  if 
the  wedding  of  Emily  could  be  solemnized  while  the  fam- 
ily was  at  the  lodge,  it  would  render  him  the  happiest  of 
men  ;  and  how  to  compass  this  object,  was  the  occupation 
of  a  whole  morning's  contemplation.  Happily  for  Emily's 
blushes,  the  old  gentleman  harbored  the  most  fastidious 
notions  of  female  delicacy,  and  never  in  conversation 
made  the  most  distant  allusion  to  the  expected  connection. 
He,  therefore,  in  conformity  with  these  feelings,  could  do 
nothing  openly  ;  all  must  be  the  effect  of  management ; 
and  as  he  thought  Peter  one  of  the  best  contrivers  in  the 
world,  to  his  ingenuity  he  determined  to  refer  the  arrange- 
ment. 

The  bell  rang — "  Send  Johnson  to  me,  David." 

In  a  few  minutes,  the  drab  coat  and  blue  yarn  stockings 
entered  his  dressing-room  with  the  body  of  Mr.  Peter 
Johnson  snugly  cased  within  them. 

"  Peter,"  commenced  Mr.  Benfield,  pointing  kindly  to  a 
chair,  which  the  steward  respectfully  declined,  "  I  suppose 
you  know  that  Mr.  Denbigh,  the  grandson  of  General 
Denbigh,  who  was  in  Parliament  with  me,  is  about  to 
marry  my  little  Emmy?" 

Peter  smiled,  as  he  bowed  an  assent. 

"  Now,  Peter,  a  wedding  would,  of  all  things,  make  me 
most  happy ;  that  is,  to  have  it  here  in  the  lodge.  It  would 
remind  me  so  much  of  the  marriage  of  Lord  Gosford,  and 
the  bridesmaids.  I  wish  your  opinion  how  to  bring  it  about 


148  PRECAUTION. 

before  they  leave  us.  Sir  Edward  and  Anne  decline  inter- 
fering,  and  Mrs.  Wilson  I  am  afraid  to  speak  to  on  the 
subject." 

Peter  was  not  a  little  alarmed  by  this  sudden  requisition 
on  his  inventive  faculties,  especially  as  a  lady  was  in  the 
case  ;  but,  as  he  prided  himself  on  serving  his  master,  and 
loved  the  hilarity  of  a  wedding  in  his  heart,  he  cogitated 
for  some  time  in  silence,  when,  having  thought  a  pre- 
liminary question  or  two  necessary,  he  broke  it  with  say- 
ing— 

"  Everything,  I  suppose,  master,  is  settled  between  the 
young  people  ?" 

"  Everything,  I  take  it,  Peter." 

"  And  Sir  Edward  and  my  lady  ?  " 

"  Willing  ;  perfectly  willing." 

"And  Madam  Wilson,  sir?" 

"Willing,  Peter,  willing." 

"  And  Mr.  John  and  Miss  Jane?" 

"  All  willing  ;  the  whole  family  is  willing,  to  the  best  of 
my  belief." 

"  There  is  the  Rev.  Mr.  Ives  and  Mrs.  Ives,  master  ? " 

"  They  wish  it,  I  know.  Don't  you  think  they  wish 
others  as  happy  as  themselves,  Peter  ?" 

"  No  doubt  they  do,  master.  Well,  then,  as  everybody 
is  willing,  and  the  young  people  agreeable,  the  only  thing 
to  be  done,  sir,  is  "- 

"  Is  what,  Peter  ? "  exclaimed  his  impatient  master,  ob- 
serving him  to  hesitate. 

"  Why,  sir,  to  send  for  the  priest,  I  take  it." 

"  Pshaw  !  Peter  Johnson,  I  know  that  myself,"  replied 
the  dissatisfied  old  man.  "  Cannot  you  help  me  to  a  better 
plan?" 

"Why,  master,"  said  Peter,  "  I  would  have  done  as  well 
for  Miss  Emmy  and  your  honor  as  I  would  have  done  for 
myself.  Now,  sir,  when  I  courted  Patty  Steele,  your  honor, 
in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
sixty-five,  I  should  have  been  married  but  for  one  diffi- 
culty, which  your  honor  says  is  removed  in  the  case  of  Miss 
Emmy." 

"What  was  that,  Peter  ?"  asked  his  master,  in  a  tender 
tone. 

*'  She  wasn't  willing,  sir." 

"Very  well,  poor  Peter,"  replied  Mr.  Benfield,  mildly, 
"you  may  go."  And  the  steward,  bowing  low,  withdrew. 

The  similarity  of  their  fortunes  in  love  was  a  strong  link 


PRECA  UTION,  149 

in  the  sympathies  which  bound  the  master  and  man  to- 
gether, and  the  former  never  failed  to  be  softened  by  an 
allusion  to  Patty.  The  want  of  tact  in  the  man,  on  the 
present  occasion,  after  much  reflection,  was  attributed  by 
his  master  to  the  fact  that  Peter  had  never  sat  in  Parlia- 
ment. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

MRS.  WILSON  and  Emily,  in  the  fortnight  they  had  been 
at  Benfield  Lodge,  paid  frequent  and  long  visits  to  the  cot- 
tage ;  and  each  succeeding  interview  left  a  more  favorable 
impression  of  the  character  of  its  mistress,  and  a  greater 
certainty  that  she  was  unfortunate.  The  latter,  however, 
alluded  very  slightly  to  her  situation  or  former  life  ;  she 
was  a  Protestant,  to  the  great  surprise  of  Mrs.  Wilson  ; 
and  one  that  misery  had  made  nearly  acquainted  with  the 
religion  she  professed.  Their  conversations  chiefly  turned 
on  the  customs  of  her  own,  as  contrasted  with  those  of  her 
adopted  country,  or  in  a  pleasant  exchange  of  opinions, 
which  the  ladies  possessed  in  complete  unison.  One  morn- 
ing John  had  accompanied  them  and  been  admitted  ;  Mrs. 
Fitzgerald  receiving  him  with  the  frankness  of  an  old  ac- 
quaintance, though  with  the  reserve  of  a  Spanish  lady. 
His  v?sits  were  permitted  under  the  direction  of  his  aunt, 
but  no  others  of  the  gentlemen  were  included  among  her 
guests.  Mrs.  Wilson  had  casually  mentioned,  in  the  ab- 
sence of  her  niece,  the  interposition  of  Denbigh  between 
her  and  death  ;  and  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  was  so  much  pleased 
at  the  noble  conduct  of  the  gentleman  as  to  express  a  de- 
sire to  see  him  ;  but  the  impressions  of  the  moment  ap- 
peared to  have  died  away,  as  nothing  more  was  said  by 
either  lady  on  the  subject,  and  it  was  apparently  forgotten. 
Mrs.  Fitzgerald  was  found  one  morning  weeping  over  a 
letter  she  held  in  her  hand,  and  the  Donna  Lorenza  was 
endeavoring  to  console  her.  The  situation  of  this  latter 
lady  was  somewhat  doubtful  ;  she  appeared  neither  wholly 
a  friend  nor  a  menial.  In  the  manners  of  the  two  there 
was  a  striking  difference  ;  although  the  Donna  was  not  vul- 
gar, she  was  far  from  possessing  the  polish  of  her  more 
juvenile  friend,  and  Mrs.  Wilson  considered  her  to  be  in  a 
station  between  that  of  a  housekeeper  and  that  of  a  com- 
panion. After  hoping  that  no  unpleasant  intelligence 
occasioned  the  distress  they  witnessed,  the  ladies  were  del- 


150  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

icately  about  to  take  their  leave,  when  Mrs.  Fitzgerald 
entreated  them  to  remain. 

"  Your  kind  attention  to  me,  dear  madam,  and  the  good- 
ness of  Miss  Moseley,  give  you  a  claim  to  know  more  of 
the  unfortunate  being  your  sympathy  has  so  greatly  as- 
sisted to  attain  her  peace  of  mind.  This  letter  is  from  the 
gentleman  of  whom  you  have  heard  me  speak,  as  once 
visiting  me,  and  though  it  has  struck  me  with  unusual 
force,  it  contains  no  more  than  I  expected  to  hear,  perhaps 
no  more  than  I  deserve  to  hear." 

"  T  hope  your  friend  has  not  been  unnecessarily  harsh  : 
severity  is  not  the  best  way,  always,  of  effecting  repentance, 
and  I  feel  certain  that  you,  my  young  friend,  can  have  been 
guilty  of  no  offence  that  does  not  rather  require  gentle 
than  stern  reproof,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson. 

"  I  thank  you,  dear  madam,  for  your  indulgent  opinion 
of  me,  but  although  I  have  suffered  much,  I  am  willing  to 
confess  it  is  a  merited  punishment ;  you  are,  however,  mis- 
taken as  to  the  source  of  my  present  sorrow.  Lord  Pen- 
dennyss  is  the  cause  of  grief,  I  believe,  to  no  one,  much 
less  to  me." 

'*  Lord  Pendennyss  !  "  exclaimed  Emily,  in  surprise,  un- 
consciously looking  at  her  aunt. 

"  Pendennyss  !  "  reiterated  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  animation  ; 
"  and  is  he  your  friend,  too  ?  " 

"Yes,  madam  ;  to  his  lordship  I  owe  everything — honor 
— comfort — religion — and  even  life  itself." 

Mrs.  Wilson's  cheek  glowed  with  an  unusual  color  at 
this  discovery  of  another  act  of  benevolence  and  virtue,  in 
a  young  nobleman  whose  character  she  had  so  long  ad- 
mired, and  whose  person  she  had  in  vain  wished  to  meet. 

"You  know  the  earl,  then  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Fitzgerald. 

"  By  reputation,  only,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson  ;  "  but 
that  is  enough  to  convince  me  a  friend  of  his  must  be  a 
worthy  character,  if  anything  were  wanting  to  make  us 
your  friends." 

The  conversation  was  continued  for  some  time,  Mrs. 
Fitzgerald  saying  she  did  not  feel  equal  just  then  to  the 
undertaking,  but  the  next  day,  if  they  would  honor  her 
with  another  call,  she  would  make  them  acquainted  with 
the  incidents  of  her  fife,  and  the  reasons  she  had  for  speak- 
ing in  such  terms  of  Lord  Pendennyss.  The  promise  to 
see  her  was  cheerfully  made  by  Mrs.  Wilson,  and  her  con- 
fidence accepted  ;  not  from  a  desire  to  gratify  an  idle  curi- 
osity, but  a  belief  that  it  was  necessary  to  probe  a 


PRECAUTION.  151 

to  cure  it  ;  and  a  correct  opinion,  that  she  would  be  a  bet- 
ter adviser  for  a  young  and  lovely  woman  than  even  Pen- 
dennyss  ;  for  the  Donna  Lorenza  she  could  hardly  consider 
in  a  capacity  to  offer  advice,  much  less  dictation.  They 
then  took  their  leave,  and  Emily,  during  their  ride,  broke 
the  silence  with  exclaiming — 

"Wherever  we  hear  of  Lord  Pendennyss,  aunt,  we  hear 
of  him  favorably." 

"  A  certain  sign,  my  dear,  he  is  deserving  of  it.  There 
is  hardly  any  man  who  has  not  his  enemies,  and  those  are 
seldom  just ;  but  wre  have  met  with  none  of  the  earl's  yet." 

"  Fifty  thousand  a  year  will  make  many  friends,"  ob- 
served Emily,  shaking  her  head. 

"  Doubtless,  my  love,  or  as  many  enemies  ;  but  honor, 
life,  and  religion,  rny  child,  are  debts  not  owing  to  money 
— in  this  country,  at  least." 

To  this  remark  Emily  assented  ;  and  after  expressing 
her  own  admiration  of  the  character  of  the  young  noble- 
man, she  dropped  into  a  reverie.  How  many  of  his  virtues 
she  identified  with  the  person  of  Mr.  Denbigh,  it  is  not, 
just  now,  our  task  to  enumerate  ;  but  judges  of  human 
nature  may  easily  determine,  and  that  too  without  having 
sat  in  the  Parliament  of  this  realm. 

The  morning  this  conversation  occurred  at  the  cottage, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jarvis,  with  their  daughters,  made  their  un- 
expected appearance  at  L .  The  arrival  of  a  post-chaise 

and  four,  with  a  gig,  was  an  event  soon  circulated  through 
the  little  village,  and  the  names  of  its  owners  reached  the 
lodge  just  as  Jane  had  allowed  herself  to  be  persuaded  by 
the  colonel  to  take  her  first  walk  with  him  unaccompanied 
by  a  third  person.  Walking  is  much  more  propitious  to 
declarations  than  riding  ;  and  whether  it  was  premeditated 
on  the  part  of  the  colonel  or  not,  or  whether  he  was  afraid 
that  Mrs.  Jarvis  or  some  one  else  would  interfere,  he  availed 
himself  of  this  opportunity,  and  had  hardly  got  out  of 
hearing  of  her  brother  and  Denbigh,  before  he  made  Jane 
an  explicit  offer  of  his  hand.  The  surprise  was  so  great 
that  some  time  elapsed  before  the  distressed  girl  could  re- 
ply. This  she,  however,  at  length  did,  but  incoherently  ; 
she  referred  him  to  her  parents,  as  the  arbiters  of  her  fate, 
well  knowing  that  her  wishes  had  long  been  those  of  her 
father  and  mother.  With  this  the  colonel  was  obliged  to 
be  satisfied  for  the  present.  But  their  walk  had  not  ended, 
before  he  gradually  drew  from  the  confiding  girl  an  ac- 
knowledgment that,  should  her  parents  decline  his  offer, 


152  PRECAUTION. 

she  would  be  very  little  less  miserable  than  himself  ;  in- 
deed, the  most  tenacious  lover  might  have  been  content 
with  the  proofs  of  regard  that  Jane,  unused  to  control  her 
feelings,  allowed  herself  to  manifest  on  this  occasion. 
Egerton  was  in  raptures  ;  a  life  devoted  to  her  would  never 
half  repay  her  condescension  ;  and  as  their  confidence  in 
creased  with  their  walk,  Jane  re-entered  the  lodge  with  £ 
degree  of  happiness  in  her  heart  she  had  never  before  ex- 
perienced. The  much  dreaded  declaration — her  own  dis- 
tres^sing  acknowledgments,  were  made,  and  nothing  further 
remained  but  to  live  and  be  happy.  She  flew  into  the 
arms  of  her  mother,  and,  hiding  her  blushes  in  her  bosom, 
acquainted  her  with  the  colonel's  offer  and  her  own  wishes. 
Lady  Moseley,  who  was  prepared  for  such  a  communica- 
tion, and  had  rather  wondered  at  its  tardiness,  kissed  her 
daughter  affectionately,  as  she  promised  to  speak  to  her 
father,  and  to  obtain  his  approbation. 

"  But,"  she  added,  with  a  degree  of  formality  and  cau- 
tion which  had  better  preceded  than  have  followed  the 
courtship,  "we  must  make  the  usual  inquiries,  my  child, 
into  the  fitness  of  Colonel  Egerton  as  a  husband  for  our 
daughter.  Once  assured  of  that,  you  have  nothing  to 
fear." 

The  baronet  was  requested  to  grant  an  audience  to 
Colonel  Egerton,  who  now  appeared  as  determined  to  ex- 
pedite things,  as  he  had  been  dilatory  before.  On  meet- 
ing Sir  Edward,  he  made  known  his  pretensions  and 
hopes.  The  father,  who  had  been  previously  notified  by 
his  wife  of  what  was  forthcoming,  gave  a  general  answer, 
similar  to  the  speech  of  the  mother,  and  the  colonel  bowed 
in  acquiescence. 

In  the  evening,  the  Jarvis  family  favored  the  inhabitants 
of  the  lodge  with  a  visit,  and  Mrs.  Wilson  was  struck  with 
the  singularity  of  their  reception  of  the  colonel.  Miss 
Jarvis,  especially,  was  rude  to  both  him  and  Jane,  and  it 
struck  all  who  witnessed  it  as  a  burst  of  jealous  feeling  for 
disappointed  hopes  ;  but  to  no  one,  excepting  Mrs.  Wil- 
son, did  it  occur  that  the  conduct  of  the  gentleman  could 
be  at  all  implicated  in  the  transaction.  Mr.  Benfield  was 
happy  to  see  under  his  roof  again  the  best  of  the  trio  ol 
Jarvises  he  had  known,  and  something  like  sociability 
prevailed.  There  was  to  be  a  ball,  Miss  Jarvis  remarked, 
at  L ,  the  following  day,  which  would  help  to  en- 
liven the  scene  a  little,  especially  as  there  were  a  couple 
of  frigates  at  anchor,  a  few  miles  off,  and  the  cfBrsrs  were 


PRECA  UTION'.  153 

expected  to  join  the  party.  This  intelligence  had  but 
little  effect  on  the  ladies  of  the  Moseley  family  ;  yet,  as 
their  uncle  desired  that,  out  of  respect  to  his  neighbors,  if 
invited,  they  would  go,  they  cheerfully  assented.  During 
the  evening,  Mrs.  Wilson  observed  Egerton  in  familiar 
conversation  with  Miss  Jarvis  ;  and  as  she  had  been  no- 
tified of  his  situation  with  respect  to  Jane,  she  determined 
to  watch  narrowly  into  the  causes  of  so  singular  a  change 
of  deportment  in  the  young  lady.  Mrs.  Jarvis  retained 
her  respect  for  the  colonel  in  full  force,  and  called  out  to 
him  across  the  room,  a  few  minutes  before  she  departed — 

"  Well,  colonel,  I  am  happy  to  tell  you  I  have  heard 
very  lately  from  your  uncle,  Sir  Edgar." 

"  Indeed,  madam  !  "  replied  the  colonel,  starting.  "  He 
was  well,  I  hope  ? " 

"  Very  well,  the  day  before  yesterday.  His  neighbor, 
old  Mr.  Holt,  is  a  lodger  in  the  same  house  with  us  at 

L ;  and  as   I  thought  you  would  like  to  hear,  I  made 

particular  inquiries  about  the  baronet."  The  word  baronet 
was  pronounced  with  emphasis  and  a  look  of  triumph,  as 
if  it  would  say,  you  see  we  have  baronets  as  well  as  you. 
As  no  answer  was  made  by  Egerton,  excepting  an  ac- 
knowledging bow,  the  merchant  and  his  family  departed. 

"  Well,  John,"  cried  Emily,  with  a  smile,  "we  have  heard 
more  good  to-day  of  our  trusty  and  well-beloved  cousin, 
the  Earl  of  Pendennyss." 

"  Indeed  !  "  exclaimed  her  brother.  "  You  must  keep 
Emily  for  his  lordship,  positively,  aunt :  she  is  almost  as 
great  an  admirer  of  him  as  yourself." 

11 1  apprehend  it  is  necessary  she  should  be  quite  as  much 
so,  to  become  his  wife,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson. 

"  Really,"  said  Emily,  more  gravely,  "  if  all  one  hears 
of  him  be  true,  or  even  half,  it  would  be  no  difficult  task 
to  admire  him." 

Denbigh  was  standing  leaning  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  in 
a  situation  where  he  could  view  the  animated  countenance 
of  Emily  as  she  spoke,  and  Mrs.  Wilson  noticed  an  un- 
easiness and  a  changing  of  color  in  him  that  appeared 
uncommon  from  so  trifling  a  cause.  Is  it  possible,  she 
thought,  Denbigh  can  harbor  so  mean  a  passion  as  envy  ? 
He  walked  away,  as  if  unwilling  to  hear  more,  and  ap- 
peared much  engrossed  with  his  own  reflections  for  the 
remainder  of  the  evening.  There  were  moments  of  doubt 
ing  which  crossed  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Wilson  with  a  keen- 
ness of  apprehension  proportionate  to  her  deep  interest  in 


IS4  PRECAUTION. 

Emily,  with  respect  to  certain  traits  in  the  character  of 
Denbigh  ;  and  this,  what  she  thought  a  display  of  un- 
worthy feeling,  was  one  of  them.  In  the  course  of  the 
evening,  the  cards  for  the  expected  ball  arrived,  and  were 
accepted.  As  this  new  arrangement  for  the  morrow  inter- 
fered with  the  intended  visit  to  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  a  servant 
was  sent  with  a  note  of  explanation  in  the  morning,  and  a 
request  that  on  the  following  day  the  promised  communi- 
cation might  be  made.  To  this  arrangement  the  recluse 
assented,  and  Emily  prepared  for  the  ball  with  a  melan- 
choly recollection  of  the  consequences  which  grew  out  of 
the  last  she  had  attended — melancholy  at  the  fate  of 
Digby,  and  pleasure  at  the  principles  manifested  by  Den- 
bigh, on  the  occasion.  The  latter,  however,  with  a  smile, 
excused  himself  from  being  of  the  party,  telling  Emily 
he  was  so  awkward  that  he  feared  some  unpleasant  conse- 
quences to  himself  or  his  friends  would  arise  from  his  in- 
advertencies, did  he  venture  again  with  her  into  such  an 
assembly. 

Emily  sighed  gently,  as  she  entered  the  carriage  of  her 
aunt  early  in  the  afternoon,  leaving  Denbigh  in  the  door 
of  the  lodge,  and  Egerton  absent  on  the  execution  of  some 
business  ;  the  former  to  amuse  himself  as  he  could  until 
the  following  morning,  and  the  latter  to  join  them  in  the 
dance  in  the  evening. 

The  arrangement  included  an  excursion  on  the  water, 
attended  by  the  bands  from  the  frigates,  a  collation,  and 
in  the  evening  a  ball.  One  of  the  vessels  was  commanded 
by  a  Lord  Henry  Stapleton,  a  fine  young  man,  who,  struck 
with  the  beauty  and  appearance  of  the  sisters,  sought  an 
introduction  to  the  baronet's  family,  and  engaged  the  hand 
of  Emily  for  the  first  dance.  His  frank  and  gentlemanlike 
deportment  was  pleasing  to  his  new  acquaintances  ;  the 
more  so,  as  it  was  peculiarly  suited  to  their  situation,  at 
the  moment.  Mrs.  Wilson  was  in  unusual  spirits,  and 
maintained  an  animated  conversation  with  the  young 
sailor,  in  the  course  of  which  he  spoke  of  his  cruising  on 
the  coast  of  Spain,  and  by  accident  he  mentioned  his  hav- 
ing carried  out  to  that  country,  upon  one  occasion,  Lord 
Pendennyss.  This  was  common  ground  between  them, 
and  Lord  Henry  was  as  enthusiastic  in  his  praises  of  the 
earl  as  Mrs.  Wilson's  partiality  could  desire.  He  also 
knew  Colonel  Egerton  slightly,'  and  expressed  his  pleas- 
ure, in  polite  terms,  when  they  met  in  the  evening  in  the 
ball-room,  at  being  able  to  renew  his  acquaintance.  Th* 


PRECA  UTIOK.  155 

evening  passed  off  as  such  evenings  generally  do — in 
gayety,  listlessness,  dancing,  gaping,  and  heart-burnings, 
according  to  the  dispositions  and  good  or  ill  fortune  of  the 
several  individuals  who  compose  the  assembly.  Mrs.  Wil- 
son, while  her  nieces  were  dancing,  moved  her  seat  to  be 
near  a  windofor,  and  found  herself  in  the  vicinity  of  two 
elderly  gentlemen,  who  were  commenting  on  the  company. 
After  making  several  common-place  remarks,  one  of  them 
inquired  of  the  other,  "Who  is  that  military  gentleman 
among  the  naval  beaux,  Holt  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  hopeful  nephew  of  my  friend  and  neighbor, 
Sir  Edgar  Egerton  ;  he  is  here  dancing  and  misspending 
his  time  and  money,  when  I  know  Sir  Edgar  gave  him  a 
thousand  pounds  six  months  ago,  on  express  condition  he 
should  not  leave  the  regiment  or  take  a  card  in  his  hand 
for  a  twelvemonth." 

"He  plays,  then?" 

"Sadly  ;  he  is,  on  the  whole,  a  very  bad  young  man." 

As  they  changed  their  topic,  Mrs.  Wilson  joined  her 
sister,  dreadfully  shocked  at  this  intimation  of  the  vices 
of  a  man  so  near  an  alliance  with  her  brother's  child.  She 
was  thankful  it  was  not  too  late  to  avert  part  of  the  evil, 
and  determined  to  acquaint  Sir  Edward,  at  once,  with 
what  she  had  heard,  in  order  that  an  investigation  might 
establish  the  colonel's  innocence  or  guilt. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THEY  returned  to  the  lodge  at  an  early  hour,  and  Mrs. 
Wilson,  after  meditating  upon  the  course  she  ought  to  take, 
resolved  to  have  a  conversation  with  her  brother  that  even- 
ing after  supper.  Accordingly,  as  they  were  among  the 
last  to  retire,  she  mentioned  her  wish  to  detain  him,  and 
when  left  by  themselves,  the  baronet  taking  his  seat  by 
her  on  a  sofa,  she  commenced  as  follows,  willing  to  avoid 
her  unpleasant  information  until  the  last  moment, 

"  I  wished  to  say  something  to  you,  brother,  relating  to 
my  charge  :  you  have,  no  doubt,  observed  the  attentions 
of'Mr.  Denbigh* to  Emily?" 

"Certainly,  sister,  and  with  great  pleasure;  you  must 
not  suppose  1  wish  to  interfere  with  the  authority  I  have 
so  freely  relinquished  to  you,  Charlotte,  when  I  inquire  if 
Emily  favors  his  views  or  not  ? " 


156  PRECAUTION. 

'-Neither  Emily  nor  I,  my  dear  brother,  wish  ever  to 
question  your  right,  not  only  to  inquire  into,  but  to  con- 
trol the  conduct  of  your  child  ; — she  is  yours,  Edward,  by 
a  tie  nothing  can  break,  and  we  both  love  you  too  much 
to  wish  it.  There  is  nothing  you  may  be  more  certain  of, 
than  that,  without  the  approbation  of  her  parents,  Emily 
would  accept  of  no  offer,  however  splendid  or  agreeable 
to  her  own  wishes." 

"  Nay,  sister,  I  would  not  wish  unduly  to  influence  my 
child  in  an  affair  of  so  much  importance  to  herself  ;  but 
my  interest  in  Denbigh  is  little  short  of  that  *  feel  for  my 
daughter." 

"  I  trust,"  continued  Mrs.  Wilson,  "  Emily  is  too  deeply 
impressed  with  her  duty  to  forget  the  impressive  mandate, 
'to  honor  her  father  and  mother'  :  yes,  Sir  Ed.ward,  I  am 
mistaken  if  she  would  not  relinquish  the  dearest  object  of 
her  affections,  at  your  request ;  and  at  the  same  time,  I  am 
persuaded  she  would,  under  no  circumstances,  approach 
the  altar  with  a  man  she  did  not  both  love  and  esteem." 

The  baronet  did  not  appear  exactly  to  understand  his 
sister's  distinction,  as  he  observed,  "  I  am  not  sure  I  right- 
ly comprehend  the  difference  you  make,  Charlotte." 

"Only,  brother,  that  she  would  feel  a  promise  made  at 
the  altar  to  love  a  man  she  felt  averse  to,  or  honor  one  she 
could  not  esteem,  as  a  breach  of  a  duty  paramount  to  all 
earthly  considerations,"  replied  his  sister  :  "  but  to  answer 
your  question — Denbigh  has  never  offered,  and  when  he 
does,  I  do  not  think  he  will  be  refused." 

"  Refused !"  cried  the  baronet,  "I  sincerely  hope  not; 
I  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  they  were  married  already." 

"  Emily  is  very  young,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  "  and  need  not 
hurry  ;  I  was  in  hopes  she  would  remain  single  a  few  years 
longer." 

"Well,"  said  the  baronet,  "you  and  Lady  Moseley,  sis- 
ter, have  different  notions  on  the  subject  of  marrying  the 
girls." 

Mrs.  Wilson  replied,  with  a  good-humored  smile,  "  You 
have  made  Anne  so  good  a  husband,  Ned,  that  she  forgets 
there  are  any  bad  ones  in  the  world  ;  my  greatest  anxiety 
is  that  the  husband  of  my  niece  may  be  a  Christian  ;  in- 
deed, I  know  not  how  I  can  reconcile  it  to  my  conscience, 
as  a  Christian  myself,  to  omit  this  important  qualification." 

"  I  am  sure,  Charlotte,  both  Denbigh  and  Egerton  ap- 
pear to  have  a  great  respect  for  religion  ;  they  are  punct- 
ual at  church,  and  very  attentive  to  the  service  •/'  Mrs 


PRECA  UTION;  157 

Wilson  smiled  as  he  proceeded,  "  but  religion  may  come 
after  marriage,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  brother,  and  I  know  it  may  not  come  at  all ;  no 
really  pious  woman  can  be  happy  without  her  husband  is 
in  what  she  deems  the  road  to  future  happiness  himself; 
and  it  is  idle — it  is  worse — it  is  almost  impious  to  marry 
with  a  view  to  reform  a  husband  ;  indeed,  she  greatly  en- 
dangers her  own  safety  thereby  ;  for  few  of  us,  I  believe, 
but  find  the  temptation  to  err  as  much  as  we  can  contend 
with,  without  calling  in  the  aid  of  example  against  us,  in 
an  object  we  love  ;  indeed,  it  appears  to  me  the  life  of  such 
a  woman  must  be  a  struggle  between  conflicting  duties." 

"  Why,"  said  the  baronet,  "  if  your  plan  were  generally 
adopted,  I  am  afraid  it  would  give  a  deadly  blow  to  mat- 
rimony." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  generals,  brother  ;  I  arn  act- 
ing for  individual  happiness,  and  discharging  individual  du- 
ties ;  at  the  same  time,  I  cannot  agree  with  you  in  its 
effects  on  the  community.  I  think  no  man  who  dispassion- 
ately examines  the  subject,  will  be  other  than  a  Christian  ; 
and,  rather  than  remain  bachelors,  they  would  take  even 
that  trouble  ;  if  the  strife  in  our  sex  were  less  for  a  hus- 
band, wives  would  increase  in  value." 

"  But  how  is  it,  Charlotte,"  said  the  baronet,  pleasantly, 
"your  sex  do  not  use  your  power,  and  reform  the  age  ?" 

"The  work  of  reformation,  Sir  Edward,"  replied  his  sis- 
ter, gravely,  "is  an  arduous  one,  indeed,  and  I  despair  of 
seeing  it  general  in  my  day ;  but  much,  very  much,  might 
be  done  toward  it,  if  those  who  have  the  guidance  of  youth 
would  take  that  trouble  with  their  pupils  that  good  faith 
requires  of  them,  to  discharge  the  minor  duties  of  life." 

"Women  ought  to  marry,  "observed  the  baronet,  musing. 

"  Marriage  is  certainly  the  natural  and  most  desirable 
state  for  a  woman,  but  how  few  are  there  who,  having  en- 
tered it,  know  how  to  discharge  its  duties  ;  more  particu- 
larly those  of  a  mother  !  On  the  subject  of  marrying  our 
daughters,  for  instance,  instead  of  qualifying  them  to  make 
a  proper  choice,  they  are  generally  left  to  pick  up  such 
principles  and  opinions  as  they  may  come  at,  as  it  were  by 
chance.  It  is  true,  if  the  parent  be  a  Christian  in  name, 
certain  of  the  externals  of  religion  are  observed  ;  but  what 
are  these,  if  not  enforced  by  a  consistent  example  in  the 
instructor." 

"  Useful  precepts  are  seldom  lost,  I  believe,  sister,"  said 
Sir  Edward,  with  confidence. 


158  PRECA  UT10N-. 

"Always  useful,  my  dear  brother  ;  but  young  people  are 
more  observant  than  we  are  apt  to  imagine,  and  are  won- 
derfully ingenious  in  devising  excuses  to  themselves  for 
their  conduct.  I  have  often  heard  it  offered  as  an  apology, 
that  father  or  mother  knew  it,  or  perhaps  did  it,  and  there- 
fore it  could  not  be  wrong  :  association  is  all-important  to 
a  child." 

"  I  believe  no  family  of  consequence  admits  of  improper 
associates  within  my  knowledge,"  said  the  baronet. 

Mrs.  Wilson  smiled  as  she  answered,  "  I  am  sure  I  hope 
not,  Edward ;  but  are  the  qualifications  we  require  in  com- 
panions for  our  daughters,  always  such  as  are  most  recon- 
cilable with  our  good  sense  or  our  consciences  ?  A  single 
communication  with  an  objectionable  character  is  a  prece- 
dent, if  known  and  unobserved,  which  will  be  offered  to 
excuse  acquaintances  with  worse  persons  :  with  the  other 
sex,  especially,  their  acquaintance  should  be  very  guarded 
and  select." 

"  You  would  make  many  old  maids,  sister." 

"  I  doubt  it  greatly,  brother ;  it  would  rather  bring 
female  society  in  demand.  I  often  regret  that  selfishness, 
cupidity,  and  the  kind  of  strife  which  prevails  in  our  sex, 
on  the  road  to  matrimony,  have  brought  celibacy  into  dis- 
repute. For  my  part,  I  never  see  an  old  maid,  but  I  am 
willing  to  think  she  is  so  from  choice  or  principle,  and,  al- 
though not  in  her  proper  place,  yet  serviceable,  by  keeping 
alive  feelings  necessary  to  exist,  that  marriages  may  not 
become  curses  instead  of  blessings." 

"A  kind  of  Eddystone,  to  prevent  matrimonial  ship- 
wrecks," said  the  brother,  gayly. 

"Their lot  may  be  solitary,  baronet,  and  in  some  measure 
cheerless,  but  infinitely  preferable  to  a  mariage  that  may 
lead  them  astray  from  their  duties,  or  give  birth  to  a  family 
which  are  to  be  turned  on  the  world — without  any  religion 
but  form — without  any  morals  but  truisms— or  without 
even  a  conscience  which  has  not  been  seared  by  indul- 
gence. I  hope  that  Anne  in  the  performance  of  her 
system,  will  have  no  causf  to  regret  its  failure." 

"  Clara  chose  for  herself,  and  has  done  well,  Charlotte  ; 
and  so,  I  doubt  not,  will  Jane  and  Emily  ;  and  I  confess  I 
think  their  mother  is  right." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  "  Clara  has  done  well, 
though  under  circumstances  of  but  little  risk  ;  she  might 
have  jumped  into  your  fish-pond,  and  escaped  with  life, 
but  the  chances  are  she  would  drown  :  nor  dp  I  dispute 


PR  EC  A  UT1ON.  I5f 

-.he  light  of  the  girls  to  choose  for  themse.ves  ;  but  I  say 
the  rights  extend  to  requiring  us  to  qualify  them  to  make 
their  choice.  I  am  sorry,  Edward,  to  be  the  instigator 
of  doubts  in  your  breast  of  the  worth  of  any  one,  especial- 
ly as  it  may  give  you  pain."  Here  Mrs.  Wilson  took  her 
brother  affectionately  by  the  hand,  and  communicated 
what  she  had  overheard  that  evening.  Although  the  im- 
pressions of  the  baronet  were  not  as  vivid  or  as  deep  as 
those  of  his  sister,  his  parental  love  was  too  great  not  to 
make  him  extremely  uneasy  under  the  intelligence  ;  and 
after  thanking  her  for  her  attention  to  his  children's 
welfare,  he  kissed  her  and  withdrew.  In  passing  to 
his  own  room,  he  met  Egerton,  that  moment  returned 
from  escorting  the  Jarvis  ladies  to  their  lodgings  ;  a 
task  he  had  undertaken  at  the  request  of  Jane,  as  they 
were  without  any  male  attendant.  Sir  Edward's  heart  was 
too  full  not  to  seek  immediate  relief,  and  as  he  had  strong 
hopes  of  the  innocence  of  the  colonel,  though  he  could 
give  no  reason  for  his  expectation,  he  returned  with  him 
to  the  parlor,  and  in  a  few  words  acquainted  him  with  the 
slanders  which  had  been  circulated  at  his  expense  ;  beg- 
ging him  by  all  means  to  disprove  them  as  soon  as  possible. 
The  colonel  was  struck  with  the  circumstance  at  first,  but 
assured  Sir  Edward  it  was  entirely  untrue.  He  never 
played,  as  he  might  have  noticed,  and  that  Mr.  Holt  was 
an  ancient  enemy  of  his.  He  would  in  the  morning  take 
measures  to  convince  Sir  Edward  that  he  stood  higher  in 
the  estimation  of  his  uncle  than  Mr.  Holt  had  thought 
proper  to.  state.  Much  relieved  by  this  explanation,  the 
baronet,  forgetting  that  this  heavy  charge  removed,  he 
only  stood  where  he  did  before  he  took  time  for  his  inqui- 
ries, assured  him,  that  if  he  could  convince  him,  or  rather 
his  sister,  he  did  not  gamble,  he  would  receive  him  as  a 
son-in  law  with  pleasure.  The  gentlemen  shook  hands 
and  parted. 

Denbigh  had  retired  to  his  room  early,  telling  Mr.  Ben- 
field  he  did  not  feel  well,  and  thus  missed  the  party  at 
supper  ;  and  by  twelve,  silence  prevailed  in  the  house. 

As  usual  after  a  previous  day  of  pleasure,  the  party  were 
late  in  assembling  on  the  following,  yet  Denbigh  was  the 
last  who  made  his  appearance.  Mrs.  Wilson  thought  he 
threw  a  look  round  the  room  as  he  entered,  which  pre* 
vented  his  making  his  salutations  in  his  usual  easy  and 
polished  manner.  In  a  few  minutes,  however,  his  awk- 
wardness was  removed,  and  they  took  their  seats  at  the 


160  PRECA  UTION. 

table.  At  that  moment  the  door  of  the  room  was  throw* 
hastily  open,  and  Mr.  Jarvis  entered  abruptly,  and  with 
a  look  bordering  on  wildness  in  his  eye — "  Is  she  not 
here?"  exclaimed  the  merchant,  scanning  the  company 
closely. 

"Who  ?"  inquired  all  in  a  breath. 

"  Polly — my  daughter — my  child,"  said  the  merchant, 
endeavoring  to  control  his  feelings  ;  "  did  she  not  come 
here  this  morning  with  Colonel  Egerton  ?" 

He  was  answered  in  the  negative,  and  he  briefly  explained 
the  cause  of  his  anxiety.  The  colonel  had  called  very 
early,  and  sent  her  maid  up  to  his  daughter  who  rose  im- 
mediately. They  had  quitted  the  house  together,  leaving 
word  the  Miss  Moseleys  had  sent  for  the  young  lady  to 
breakfast,  for  some  particular  reason.  Such  was  the  lati- 
tude allowed  by  his  wife,  that  nothing  was  suspected  until 
one  of  the  servants  of  the  house  said  he  had  seen  Colonel 
Egerton  and  a  lady  drive  out  of  the  village  that  morning 
in  a  post-chaise  and  four. 

Then  the  old  gentleman  first  took  the  alarm,  and  he 
proceeded  instantly  to  the  lodge  in  quest  of  his  daughter. 
Of  the  elopement  there  now  remained  no  doubt,  and  an 
examination  into  the  state  of  the  colonel's  room,  who,  it 
had  been  thought,  was  not  yet  risen,  gave  assurance  of  it. 
Here  was  at  once  sad  confirmation  that  the  opinion  of  Mr. 
Holt  was  a  just  one.  Although  every  heart  felt  for  Jane 
during  this  dreadful  explanation,  no  eye  was  turned  on 
her  excepting  the  stolen  and  anxious  glances  of  her  sister ; 
but  when  all  was  confirmed,  and  nothing  remained  but  to 
reflect  or  act  upon  the  circumstances,  she  naturally  en- 
grossed the  whole  attention  of  her  fond  parents.  Jane 
had  listened  in  indignation  to  the  commencement  of  the 
narrative  of  Mr.  Jarvis,  and  so  firmly  was  Egerton  en- 
shrined in  purity  within  her  imagination,  that  not  until  it 
was  ascertained  that  both  his  servant  and  clothes  were 
missing,  would  she  admit  a  thought  injurious  to  his  truth. 
Then  indeed  the  feelings  of  Mr.  Jarvis,  his  plain  statement 
corroborated  by  this  testimony,  struck  her  at  once  as  true  ; 
and  as  she  rose  to  leave  the  room,  she  fell  senseless  into 
the  arms  of  Emily,  who,  observing  her  movement  and  loss 
of  color,  had  flown  to  her  assistance.  Denbigh  had  drawn 
the  merchant  out  in  vain  efforts  to  appease  him,  and  hap- 
pily no  one  witnessed  this  effect  of  Jane's  passion  but  her 
nearest  relatives.  She  was  immediately  removed  to  her 
own  room,  and  in  a  short  time  was  in  bed  with  a  burning 


PRECAUTION'.  161 

fever.  The  bursts  of  her  grief  were  uncontrolled  and  vio- 
lent. At  times  she  reproached  herself — her  friends — Eg 
erton  ;  in  short,  she  was  guilty  of  all  the  inconsistent  sen- 
sations that  disappointed  hopes,  accompanied  by  the 
consciousness  of  weakness  on  our  part,  seldom  fail  to  give 
rise  to  ;  the  presence  of  her  friends  was  irksome  to  her, 
and  it  was  only  to  the  soft  and  insinuating  blandishments 
of  Emily's  love  that  she  would  at  all  yield.  Perseverance 
and  aifection  at  length  prevailed,  and  as  Emily  took  the 
opportunity  of  some  refreshments  to  infuse  a  strong  sopo- 
rific, Jane  lost  her  consciousness  of  misery  in  a  temporary 
repose.  In  the  meantime  a  more  searching  inquiry  had 
been  able  to  trace  out  the  manner  and  direction  of  the 
journey  of  the  fugitives. 

It  appeared  the  colonel  left  the  lodge  immediately  after 
his  conversation  with  Sir  Edward;  he  slept  at  a  tavern, 
and  caused  his  servant  to  remove  his  baggage  at  daylight ; 
here  he  had  ordered  a  chaise  and  horses,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded, as  mentioned,  to  the  lodgings  of  Mr.  Jarvis.  What 
arguments  he  used  with  Miss  Jarvis  to  urge  her  to  so  sud- 
den a  flight,  remained  a  secret ;  but  from  the  remarks  of 
Mrs.  Jarvis  and  Miss  Sarah,  there  was  reason  to  believe 
that  he  had  induced  them  to  think,  from  the  commence- 
ment, that  his  intentions  were  single,  and  Mary  Jarvis 
their  object.  How  he  contrived  to  gloss  over  his  atten- 
tions to  Jane  in  such  a  manner  as  to  deceive  those  ladies, 
caused  no  little  surprise  ;  but  it  was  obvious  it  had  been 
done,  and  the  Moseleys  were  not  without  hopes,  his  situa- 
tion with  Jane  would  not  make  the  noise  in  the  world 
such  occurrences  seldom  fail  to  excite.  In  the  afternoon 
a  letter  was  handed  to  Mr.  Jarvis,  and  by  him  immediately 
communicated  to  the  baronet  and  Denbigh,  both  of  whom 
he  considered  as  among  his  best  friends.  It  was  from 
Egerton,  and  written  in  a  respectful  manner  ;  he  apologized 
for  his  elopement,  and  excused  it  on  the  ground  of  a  wish 
to  avoid  the  delay  of  a  license  or  the  publishing  of  bans, 
as  he  was  in  hourly  expectation  of  a  summons  to  his  regi- 
ment, and  contained  many  promises  of  making  an  atten- 
tive husband,  and  an  affectionate  son.  The  fugitives  were 
on  the  road  to  Scotland,  whence  they  intended  immediately 
to  return  to  London  and  to  wait  the  commands  of  their 
parents.  The  baronet,  in  a  voice  trembling  with  emotion 
at  the  sufferings  of  his  own  child,  congratulated  the  mer- 
chant that  things  were  no  worse  ;  while  Denbigh  curled 
his  lips  as  he  read  the  epistle,  and  thought  settlements 
ii 


1 62  PR  EC  A  UT10N. 

were  a  greater  inconvenience  than  the  bans — for  it  was  a 
well-known  fact,  that  a  maiden  aunt  had  left  the  Jarvises 
twenty  thousand  pounds  between  them. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

ALTHOUGH  the  affections  of  Jane  had  sustained  a  heavy 
blow,  her  pride  had  received  a  greater,  and  no  persuasions 
of  her  mother  or  sister  could  induce  her  to  leave  her  room. 
She  talked  little,  but  once  or  twice  she  yielded  to  the  af- 
fectionate attentions  of  Emily,  and  poured  out  her  sor- 
rows into  the  bosom  of  her  sister.  At  such  moments  she 
would  declare  her  intention  of  never  appearing  in  the 
world  again.  One  of  these  paroxysms  of  sorrow  was 
witnessed  by  her  mother,  and,  for  the  first  time,  self-re- 
proach mingled  in  the  grief  of  the  matron.  Had  she 
trusted  less  to  appearances  and  to  the  opinions  of  indif- 
ferent and  ill-judging  acquaintances,  her  daughter  might 
have  been  apprised  in  season  of  the  character  of  the  man 
who  had  stolen  her  affections.  To  a  direct  exhibition  of 
misery.  Lady  Moseley  was  always  sensible,  and,  for  the  mo- 
ment, she  became  alive  to  its  causes  and  consequences  ; 
but  a  timely  and  judicious  safeguard  against  future  moral 
evils  was  a  forecast  neither  her  inactivity  of  mind  nor 
abilities  were  equal  to. 

We  shall  leave  Jane  to  brood  over  her  lover's  miscon- 
duct, while  we  regret  she  is  without  the  consolation  alone 
able  to  bear  her  up  against  the  misfortunes  of  life,  and  re- 
turn to  the  other  personages  of  our  history. 

The  visit  to  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  had  been  postponed  in  con- 
sequence of  Jane's  indisposition  ;  but  a  week  after  the 
colonel's  departure,  Mrs.  Wilson  thought,  as  Jane  had  con- 
sented to  leave  her  room,  and  Emily  really  began  to  look 
pale  from  her  confinement  by  the  side  of  a  sick  bed,  she 
would  redeem  the  pledge  she  had  given  the  recluse  on  the 
following  morning.  They  found  the  ladies  at  the  cottage 
happy  to  see  them,  and  anxious  to  hear  of  the  health  of 
Jane,  of  whose  illness  they  had  been  informed  by  note. 
After  offering  her  guests  some  refreshments,  Mrs.  Fitz- 
gerald, who  appeared  laboring  under  a  greater  melancholy 
than  usual,  proceeded  to  make  them  acquainted  with  the 
incidents  of  her  life. 

The  daughter  of  an  English  merchant  at  Lisbon  had  fled 


PRECA  UTION.  163 

from  the  house  of  her  father  to  the  protection  of  an  Irish 
officer  in  the  service  of  his  Catholic  Majesty  ;  they  were 
united,  and  the  colonel  immediately  took  his  bride  to  Mad- 
rid. The  offspring  of  this  union  were  a  son  and  daughter. 
The  former,  at  an  early  age,  had  entered  into  the  service 
of  his  king,  and  had,  as  usual,  been  bred  in  the  faith  of 
his  ancestors ;  but  the  Sefiora  McCarthy  had  been  educated, 
and  yet  remained  a  Protestant,  and,  contrary  to  her  faith 
to  her  husband,  secretly  instructed  her  daughter  in  the 
same  belief.  At  the  age  of  seventeen,  a  principal  grandee 
of  the  court  of  Charles  sought  the  hand  of  the  general's 
child.  The  Conde  d'Alzada  was  a  match  not  to  be  re- 
fused, and  they  were  united  in  the  heartless  and  formal 
manner  in  which  marriages  are  too  often  entered  into,  in 
countries  where  the  customs  of  society  prevent  an  inter- 
course between  the  sexes.  The  conde  never  possessed  the 
affections  of  his  wife.  Of  a  stern  and  unyielding  disposi- 
tion, his  harshness  repelled  her  love  ;  and  as  she  naturally 
turned  her  eyes  to  the  home  of  her  childhood,  she  cherished 
all  those  peculiar  sentiments  she  had  imbibed  from  her 
mother.  Thus,  although  she  appeared  to  the  world  a 
Catholic,  she  lived  in  secret  a  Protestant.  Her  parents' 
had  always  used  the  English  language  in  their  family,  and 
she  spoke  it  as  fluently  as  the  Spanish.  To  encourage  her 
recollections  of  this  strong  feature,  which  distinguished 
the  house  of  her  father  from  the  others  she  entered,  she 
perused  closely  and  constantly  those  books  which  the 
death  of  her  mother  placed  at  her  disposal.  These  were 
principally  Protestant  works  on  religious  subjects,  and  the 
countess  became  a  strong  sectarian,  without  becoming  a 
Christian.  As  she  was  compelled  to  use  the  same  books 
in  teaching  her  only  child,  the  Donna  Julia,  English,  the 
consequences  of  the  original  false  step  of  her  grandmother 
were  perpetuated  in  the  person  of  this  young  lady.  In 
learning  English,  she  also  learned  to  secede  from  the  faith 
of  her  father,  and  entailed  upon  herself  a  life  of  either 
persecution  or  hypocrisy.  The  countess  was  guilty  of  the 
unpardonable  error  of  complaining  to  their  child  of  the 
treatment  she  received  from  her  husband  ;  and  as  these 
conversations  were  held  in  English,  and  were  consecrated 
by  the  tears  of  the  mother,  they  made  an  indelible  im- 
pression on  the  youthful  mind  of  Julia,  who  grew  up  with 
the  conviction  that  next  to  being  a  Catholic  herself,  the 
greatest  evil  of  life  was  to  be  the  wife  of  one. 

On  her  attaining  her  fifteenth  year,  she  had  the  mis. 


1 64  PRECA  UTION. 

fortune  (if  it  could  be  termed  one)  to  lose  her  mother,  and 
within  the  year  her  father  presented  to  her  a  nobleman  of 
the  vicinity  as  her  future  husband..  How  long  the  re- 
ligious faith  of  Julia  would  have  endured,  unsupported  by 
example  in  others,  and  assailed  by  the  passions  soliciting 
in  behalf  of  a  young  and  handsome  cavalier,  it  might  be 
difficult  to  pronounce  ;  but  as  her  suitor  was  neither  very 
young,  and  the  reverse  of  very  handsome,  it  is  certain  the 
more  he  wooed,  the  more  confirmed  she  became  in  her 
heresy,  until,  in  a  moment  of  desperation,  and  as  an  only 
refuge  against  his  solicitations,  she  candidly  avowed  her 
creed.  The  anger  of  her  father  was  violent  and  lasting  ; 
she  was  doomed  to  a  convent,  as  both  a  penance  for  her 
sins  and  a  means  of  reformation.  Physical  resistance  was 
not  in  her  power,  but  mentally  she  determined  never  to 
yield.  Her  body  was  immured,  but  her  mind  continued 
unshaken  and  rather  more  settled  in  her  belief,  by  the  aid 
of  those  passions  which  had  been  excited  by  injudicious 
harshness.  For  two  years  she  continued  in  her  novitiate, 
obstinately  refusing  to  take  the  vows  of  the  order,  and  at 
the  end  of  that  period  the  situation  of  her  country  had 
called  her  father  and  uncle  to  the  field  as  defenders  of  the 
rights  of  their  lawful  prince.  Perhaps  to  this  it  was  owing 
that  harsher  measures  were  not  adopted  in  her  case. 

The  war  now  raged  around  them  in  its  greatest  horrors, 
until  at  length  a  general  battle  was  fought  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  the  dormitories  of  the  peaceful  nuns  were 
crowded  with  wounded  British  officers.  Among  others  of 
his  nation  was  a  Major  Fitzgerald,  a  young  man  of  strik- 
ingly handsome  countenance  and  pleasant  manners. 
Chance  threw  him  under  the  more  immediate  charge  of 
Julia  ;  his  recovery  was  slow,  and  for  a  time  doubtful,  and 
as  much  owing  to  good  nursing  as  science.  The  major 
was  grateful,  and  Julia  unhappy  as  she  was  beautiful.  That 
love  should  be  the  offspring  of  this  association,  will  excite 
no  surprise.  A  brigade  of  British  encamping  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  convent,  the  young  couple  sought  its  protection 
from  Spanish  vengeance  and  Romish  cruelty.  They  were 
married  by  the  chaplain  of  the  brigade,  and  for  a  month 
they  were  happy. 

As  Napoleon  was  daily  expected  in  person  at  the  seat  of 
war,  his  generals  were  alive  to  their  own  interests,  if  not  to 
that  of  their  master.  The  body  of  troops  in  which  Fitz- 
gerald had  sought  a  refuge,  being  an  advanced  party  of  the 
main  army,  were  surprised  and  defeated  with  Joss,  Aftei 


PR  EC  A  UTION.  165 

doing  his  duty  as  a  soldier  at  his  post,  the  major,  in  en- 
deavoring to  secure  the  retreat  of  Julia,  was  intercepted, 
and  they  both  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  They 
were  kindly  treated,  and  allowed  every  indulgence  their 
situation  admitted,  until  a  small  escort  of  prisoners  was 
sent  to  the  frontiers  ;  in  this  they  were  included,  and  had 
proceeded  to  the  neighborhood  of  the  Pyrenees,  when,  in 
their  turn,  the  French  were  assailed  suddenly,  and  entirely 
routed  ;  and  the  captive  Spaniards,  of  which  the  party, 
with  the  exception  of  our  young  couple,  consisted,  re- 
leased. As  the  French  guard  made  a  resistance  until  over- 
powered by  numbers,  an  unfortunate  ball  struck  Major 
Fitzgerald  to  the  earth — he  survived  but  an  hour,  and  died 
where  he  fell,  on  the  open  field.  An  English  officer,  the 
last  of  his  retiring  countrymen,  was  attracted  by  the  sight 
of  a  woman  weeping  over  the  body  of  a  fallen  man,  and 
approached  them.  In  a  few  words  Fitzgerald  explained 
his  situation  to  this  gentleman,  and  exacted  a  pledge  from 
him  to  guard  his  Julia,  in  safety,  to  his  mother  in  Eng- 
land. 

The  stranger  promised  everything  the  dying  husband  re- 
quired, and  by  the  time  death  had  closed  the  eyes  of  Fitz- 
gerald, he  had  procured  from  some  peasants  a  rude  con- 
veyance, into  which  the  body,  with  its  almost  equally 
lifeless  widow,  was  placed.  The  party  which  intercepted 
the  convoy  of  prisoners,  had  been  out  from  the  British 
camp  on  other  duty,  but  its  commander  hearing  of  the 
escort,  had  pushed  rapidly  into  a  country  covered  by  the 
enemy  to  effect  their  rescue  ;  and  his  service  done,  he  was 
compelled  to  make  a  hasty  retreat  to  insure  his  own  secu- 
rity. To  this  was  owing  the  indifference  which  left  the 
major  to  the  care  of  the  Spanish  peasantry  who  had  gath- 
ered to  the  spot,  and  the  retreating  troops  had  got  several 
miles  on  their  return,  before  the  widow  and  her  protector 
commenced  their  journey.  It  was  impossible  to  overtake 
them,  and  the  inhabitants  acquainting  the  gentleman  that 
a  body  of  French  dragoons  were  already  harassing  their 
rear,  he  was  compelled  to  seek  another  route  to  the  camp. 
This,  with  some  trouble  and  no  little  danger,  he  at  last 
effected  ;  and  the  day  following  the  skirmishT^Juli^  found 
herself  lodged  in  a  retired  Spanish  dwelling,  several  miles 
within  the  advanced  posts  of  the  British  army.  The  body 
of  her  husband  was  respectfully  interred,  and  Julia  was 
left  to  mourn  her  irretrievable  loss,  uninterrupted  by  any- 
thing but  by  the  hasty  visits  of  the  officer  in  whose  care 


i66  PRECAUTION. 

she  had  been  left — visits  which  he  stole  from  his  more  im- 
portant duties  as  a  soldier. 

A  month  glided  by  in  this  melancholy  manner,  leaving 
to  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  the  only  consolation  she  would  receive 
— her  incessant  visits  to  the  grave  of  her  husband.  The 
calls  of  her  protector,  however,  became  more  frequent ; 
and  at  length  he  announced  his  intended  departure  for  Lis- 
bon, on  his  way  to  England.  A  small  covered  vehicle, 
drawn  by  one  horse,  was  to  convey  them  to  the  city,  at 
which  place  he  promised  to  procure  her  a  female  attend- 
ant, and  necessaries  for  the  voyage  home.  It  was  no  time 
or  place  for  delicate  punctilio  ;  and  Julia  quietly,  but  with 
a  heart  nearly  broken,  prepared  to  submit  to  the  wishes  of 
her  late  husband.  After  leaving  the  dwelling,  the  manners 
of  her  guide  sensibly  altered  ;  he  became  complimentary 
and  assiduous  to  please,  but  in  a  way  rather  to  offend  than 
conciliate  ;  until  his  attentions  became  so  irksome  that 
Julia  actually  meditated  stopping  at  some  of  the  villages 
through  which  they  passed,  and  abandoning  the  attempt 
of  visiting  England  entirely.  But  the  desire  to  comply 
with  Fitzgerald's  wish,  that  she  would  console  his  mother 
for  the  loss  of  an  only  child,  and  the  dread  of  the  anger  of 
her  relatives,  determined  her  to  persevere  until  they  reached 
Lisbon,  where  she  was  resolved  to  separate  forever  from 
the  disagreeable  and  unknown  guardian  into  whose  keep- 
ing she  had  been  thrown  by  chance. 

The  last  day  of  their  weary  ride,  while  passing  a  wood, 
the  officer  so  far  forgot  his  own  character  and  Julia's  mis- 
fortunes, as  to  offer  personal  indignities.  Grown  desperate 
from  her  situation,  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  sprang  from  the 
vehicle,  and  by  her  cries  attracted  the  notice  of  an  officer 
who  was  riding  express  on  the  same  road  with  themselves. 
He  advanced  to  her  assistance  at  speed,  but  as  he  arrived 
near  them,  a  pistol  fired  from  the  carriage  brought  his  horse 
down,  and  the  treacherous  friend  was  enabled  to  escape 
undetected.  Julia  endeavored  to  explain  her  situation  to 
her  rescuer  ;  and  by  her  distress  and  appearance  satisfied 
him  at  once  of  its  truth.  Within  a  short  time,  a  strong  es- 
cort of  light  dragoons  came  up,  and  the  officer  dispatched 
some  for  a  conveyance,  and  others  in  pursuit  of  that  dis- 
grace to  the  army,  the  villanous  guide  :  the  former  wras 
soon  obtained,  but  no  tidings  could  be  had  of  the  latter.  The 
carriage  was  found  at  a  short  distance,  without  the  horse 
and  with  the  baggage  of  Julia,  but  with  no  vestige  of  its 
owner.  She  never  knew  his  name,  and  either  accident  or 


PRECA  UTION.  167 


art  had  so  completely  enveloped  him  in  mystery,  that  all 
efforts  to  unfold  it  then  were  fruitless,  and  had  continued 
so  ever  since. 

On  their  arrival  in  Lisbon,  every  attention  was  shown 
to  the  disconsolate  widow  the  most  refined  delicacy  could 
dictate,  and  every  comfort  and  respect  were  procured  for 
her  which  the  princely  fortune,  high  rank,  and  higher 
character  of  the  Earl  of  Pendennyss  could  command.  It 
was  this  nobleman  who,  on  his  way  from  head-quarters 
with  dispatches  for  England,  had  been  the  means  of  pre- 
serving Julia  from  a  fate  worse  than  death.  A  packet  was 
in  waiting  for  the  earl,  and  they  proceeded  in  her  for 
home.  The  Donna  Lorenza  was  the  widow  of  a  subaltern 
Spanish  officer,  who  had  fallen  under  the  orders  and  near 
Pendennyss,  and  the  interest  he  took  in  her  brave  husband 
had  induced  him  to  offer  her,  on  the  destruction  of  her  lit- 
tle fortune  by  the  enemy,  his  protection  :  for  near  two 
years  he  had  maintained  her  at  Lisbon,  and  now,  judging 
her  a  proper  person,  had  persuaded  her  to  accompany 
Mrs.  Fitzgerald  to  England. 

On  the  passage,  which  was  very  tedious,  the  earl  became 
more  intimately  acquainted  with  the  history  and  character 
of  his  young  friend,  and  by  a  course  of  gentle  yet  power- 
ful expedients  had  drawn  her  mind  gradually  from  its 
gloomy  contemplation  of  futurity,  to  a  juster  sense  of  good 
and  evil.  The  peculiarity  of  her  religious  persuasion  af- 
forded an  introduction  to  frequent  discussions  of  the  real 
opinions  of  that  church  to  which  Julia  had  hitherto  be- 
longed, although  ignorant  of  all  its  essential  and  vital 
truths.  These  conversations,  which  were  renewed  repeat- 
edly in  their  intercourse  while  under  the  protection  of  his 
sister  in  London,  laid  the  foundations  of  a  faith  which  left 
her  nothing  to  hope  for  but  the  happy  termination  of  her 
earthly  probation. 

The  mother  of  Fitzgerald  was  dead,  and  as  he  had  no 
near  relative  left,  Julia  found  herself  alone  in  the  world. 
Her  husband  had  taken  the  precaution  to  make  a  will  in 
season  ;  it  was  properly  authenticated,  and  his  widow,  by 
the  powerful  assistance  of  Pendennyss,  was  put  in  quiet 
possession  of  a  little  independency.  It  was  while  waiting 
the  decision  of  this  affair  that  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  resided  for 
a  short  time  near  Bath.  As  soon  as  it  was  terminated,  the 
earl  and  his  sister  had  seen  her  settled  in  her  present 
abode,  and  once  more  since  had  they  visited  her ;  but  del- 
icacy had  kept  him  away  from  the  cottage,  although  his 


<68  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

^tempts  to  serve  her  had  been  constant,  though  not  always 
successful.  He  had,  on  his  return  to  Spain,  seen  her  fath- 
er, ^nd  interceded  with  him  on  her  behalf,  but  in  vain. 
The  ^nger  of  the  Spaniard  remained  unappeased,  and  for 
a  season  he  did  not  renew  his  efforts  ;  but  having  heard 
that  her  father  was  indisposed,  Julia  had  employed  the 
earl  ono^  more  to  make  her  peace  with  him,  without  pre- 
vailing. The  letter  the  ladies  had  found  her  weeping  over 
was  from  Pendennyss,  informing  her  of  his  waiTt  of  suc- 
cess on  that  occasion. 

The  substance  of  the  foregoing  narrative  was  related  by 
Mrs.  Fitzgerald  io  Mrs.  Wilson,  who  repeated  it  to  Emily 
in  their  ride  home.  The  compassion  of  both  ladies  was 
strongly  moved  in  behalf  of  the  young  widow  ;  yet  Mrs. 
Wilson  did  not  fail  to  point  out  to  her  niece  the  conse- 
quences of  deception,  and  chiefly  the  misery  which  had 
followed  from  an  abandonment  of  some  of  the  primary 
duties  of  life — obedience  and  respect  to  her  parent.  Emily, 
though  keenly  alive  to  all  the  principles  inculcated  by  her 
aunt,  found  so  much  to  be  pitied  in  the  fate  of  her  friend, 
that  her  failings  lost  their  proper  appearance  in  her  eyes, 
and  for  a  while  she  could  think  of  nothing  but  Julia  and 
her  misfortunes.  Previously  to  their  leaving  the  cottage, 
Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  with  glowing  cheeks  and  some  hesitation, 
informed  Mrs.  Wilson  she  had  yet  another  important  com- 
munication to  make,  but  would  postpone  it  until  her  next 
visit,  which  Mrs,  Wilson  promised  should  be  on  the  suc- 
ceeding day. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

EMILY  threw  a  look  of  pleasure  on  Denbigh  as  he  handed 
her  from  the  carriage,  which  would  have  said,  if  looks 
could  talk,  "In  the  principles  you  have  displayed  on  more 
than  one  occasion,  I  have  a  pledge  of  your  worth."  As  be 
led  her  into  the  house,  he  laughingly  informed  her  that 
he  had  that  morning  received  a  letter  which  would  make 

his  absence  from   L necessary  for  a  short  time,  and 

that  he  must  remonstrate  against  these  long  and  repeated 
visits  to  a  cottage  where  all  attendants  of  the  male  sex 
were  excluded,  as  they  encroached  greatly  on  his  pleasures 
and  improvements,  bowing,  as  he  spoke,  to  Mrs.  Wilson. 
To  this  Emily  replied,  gayly,  that  possibly,  if  he  conducted 
himself  to  their  satisfaction,  they  would  intercede  for  his 


PRECA  UTION.  ifej 

admission.  Expressing  his  pleasure  at  this  promise,  as 
Mrs.  Wilson  thought,  rather  awkwardly,  Denbigh  changed 
the  conversation.  At  dinner  he  repeated  to  the  family 
what  he  had  mentioned  to  Emily  of  his  departure,  and  also 
his  expectation  of  meeting  with  Lord  Chatterton  during 
his  journey. 

"Have  you  heard  from  Chatterton  lately,  John?"  in- 
quired Sir  Edward  Moseley. 

"Yes,  sir,  to-day;  he  had  left  Denbigh  Castle  a  fort- 
night since,  and  writes  he  is  to  meet  his  friend,  the  duke, 
at  Bath." 

"  Are  you  connected  with  his  grace,  Mr.  Denbigh  ? " 
asked  Lady  Moseley. 

A  smile  of  indefinite  meaning  played  on  the  expressive 
face  of  Denbigh,  as  he  answered  slightly — 

"  On  the  side  of  my  father,  madam." 

"  He  has  a  sister,"  continued  Lady  Moseley,  willing  to 
know  more  of  Chattertori's  friends  and  Denbigh's  relatives. 

"  He  has,"  was  the  brief  reply. 

"  Her  name  is  Harriet,"  observed  Mrs.  Wilson.  Denbigh 
bowed  his  assent  in  silence,  and  Emily  timidly  added — 

"  Lady  Harriet  Denbigh  ?  " 

"  Lady  Harriet  Denbigh — will  you  do  me  the  favor  to 
take  wine  ?  " 

The  manner  of  the  gentleman  during  this  dialogue  had 
not  been  in  the  least  unpleasant,  but  it  was  peculiar  ;  it 
prohibited  anything  further  on  the  subject  ;  and  Emily 
was  obliged  to  be  content  without  knowing  who  Marian 
was,  or  whether  her  name  was  to  be  found  in  the  Denbigh 
family  or  not.  Emily  was  not  in  the  least  jealous,  but  she 
wished  to  know  all  to  whom  her  lover  was  dear. 

"  Do  the  dowager  and  the  young  ladies  accompany 
Chatterton?"  asked  Sir  Edward  as  he  turned  to  John, 
who  was  eating  his  fruit  in  silence. 

"Yes,  sir— I  hope — that  is,  I  believe  she  will,"  was  the 
answer. 

"  She  !     Who  is  she,  my  son  ?  " 

"Grace  Chatterton,"  said  John,  starting  from  his  medita- 
tions. "  Did  you  not  ask  me  about  Grace,  Sir  Edward  ? " 

"  Not  particularly,  I  believe,"  said  the  baronet,  dryly. 

Denbigh  again  smiled :  it  was  a  smile  different  from 
any  Mrs.  Wilson  had  ever  seen  on  his  countenance,  and 
gave  an  entirely  novel  expression  to  his  face  ;  it  was  full 
of  meaning,  it  was  knowing — spoke  more  of  the  man  of 
the  world  than  anything  she  had  before  noticed  in  him, 


/;o  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

and  left  on  her  mind  one  of  those  vague  impressions 
she  was  often  troubled  with,  that  ••  there  was  something 
about  Denbigh  in  character  or  condition,  or  both,  that  was 
mysterious. 

The  spirit  of  Jane  was  too  great  to  leave  her  a  pining  or 
pensive  maiden  ;  yet  her  feelings  had  sustained  a  shock 
that  time  alone  could  cure.  She  appeared  again  among 
her  friends  ;  but  the  consciousness  of  her  expectations 
with  respect  to  the  Colonel  being  known  to  them,  threw 
around  her  a  hauteur  and  distance  foreign  to  her  natural 
manner.  Emily  alone,  whose  every  movement  sprang 
from  the  spontaneous  feelings  of  her  heart,  and  whose 
words  and  actions  were  influenced  by  the  finest  and  most 
affectionate  delicacy,  such  as  she  was  not  conscious  of 
possessing  herself,  won  upon  the  better  feelings  of  her 
sister  so  far  as  to  restore  between  them  the  usual  ex- 
change of  kindness  and  sympathy.  But  Jane  admitted 
no  confidence  ;  she  found  nothing  consoling,  nothing 
solid,  to  justify  her  attachment  to  Egerton  ;  nothing,  in- 
deed, excepting  such  external  advantages  as  she  was  now 
ashamed  to  admit  had  ever  the  power  over  her  they  in 
reality  had  possessed.  The  marriage  of  the  fugitives  in 
Scotland  had  been  announced  ;  and  as  the  impression  that 
Egerton  was  to  be  connected  with  the  Moseleys  was  de- 
stroyed, of  course  their  every-day  acquaintances,  feeling 
the  restraints  removed  that  such  an  opinion  had  once  im- 
posed, were  free  in  their  comments  on  his  character.  Sir 
Edward  and  Lady  Moseley  were  astonished  to  find  how 
many  things  to  his  disadvantage  were  generally  known  ; 
that  he  gambled,  intrigued,  and  was  in  debt,  were  no  se- 
crets, apparently  to  anybody  but  to  those  who  were  most 
interested  in  knowing  the  truth  ;  while  Mrs.  Wilson  saw  in 
these  facts  additional  reasons  for  examining  and  judging 
for  ourselves  ;  the  world  uniformly  concealing  from  the 
party  and  his  friends  their  honest  opinions  of  his  charac- 
ter. Some  of  these  insinuations  reached  the  ears  of  Jane  : 
her  aunt  having  rightly  judged,  that  the  surest  way  to 
destroy  Egerton's  power  over  the  imagination  of  her  niece 
was  to  strip  him  of  his  fictitious  qualities,  suggested  this 
expedient  to  Lady  Moseley ;  and  some  of  their  visitors 
had  thought,  as  the  Colonel  had  certainly  been  attentive 
to  Miss  Moseley,  it  would  give  her  pleasure  to  know  that 
her  rival  had  not  made  the  most  eligible  match  in  the 
kingdom.  The  project  of  Mrs.  Wilson  succeeded  in  a 
great  measure  :  but  although  Egerton  felj  Jane  did  not 


PRECAUTION.  171 

find  she  rose  in  her  own  estimation  ;  and  her  friends  wisely 
concluded  that  time  was  the  only  remedy  that  could  re- 
store her  former  serenity. 

In  the  morning,  Mrs.  Wilson,  unwilling  to  have  Emily 
present  at  a  conversation  she  intended  to  hold  with  Den- 
bigh, with  a  view  to  satisfy  her  annoying  doubts  as  to 
some  minor  points  in  his  character,  after  excusing  herself 
to  her  niece,  invited  that  gentleman  to  a  morning  drive. 
He  accepted  her  invitation  cheerfully ;  and  Mrs.  Wilson 
saw,  it  was  only  as  they  drove  from  the  door  without 
Emily,  that  he  betrayed  the  faintest  reluctance  to  the  jaunt. 
When  they  had  got  a  short  distance  from  the  lodge  she  ac- 
quainted him  with  her  intention  of  presenting  him  to  Mrs. 
Fitzgerald,  whither  she  had  ordered  the  coachman  to  pro- 
ceed. Denbigh  started  as  she  mentioned  the  name,  and 
after  a  few  moment's  silence,  desired  Mrs.  Wilson  to  allow 
him  to  stop  the  carriage  ;  he  was  not  very  well — was  sorry 
to  be  so  rude — but  with  her  permission,  he  would  alight 
and  return  to  the  house.  As  he  requested  in  an  earnest 
manner  that  she  would  proceed  without  him,  and  by  no 
means  disappoint  her  friend,  Mrs.  Wilson  complied  ;  yet, 
somewhat  at  a  loss  to  account  for  his  sudden  illness,  she 
turned  her  head  to  see  how  the  sick  man  fared,  a  short 
time  after  he  had  left  her,  and  was  not  a  little  surprised  to 
see  him  talking  very  composedly  with  John,  who  had  met 
him  on  his  way  to  the  fields  with  his  gun.  Lovesick, 
thought  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  a  smile  ;  and  as  she  rode  on  she 
came  to  the  conclusion  that,  as  Denbigh  was  to  leave  them 
soon,  Emily  would  have  an  important  communication  to 
make  on  her  return. 

"Well,"  thought  Mrs.  Wilson  with  a  sigh,  "if  it  is  to 
happen,  it  may  as  well  be  done  at  once." 

Mrs.  Fitzgerald  was  expecting  her,  and  appeared  rather 
pleased  than  otherwise  that  she  had  come  alone.  After 
some  introductory  conversation,  the  ladies  withdrew  by 
themselves,  and  Julia  acquainted  Mrs.  Wilson  with  a  new- 
source  of  uneasiness.  The  day  the  ladies  had  promised  to 
visit  her,  but  had  been  prevented  by  the  arrangements  for 
the  ball,  the  Donna  Lorenza  had  driven  to  the  village  to 
make  some  purchases,  attended  as  usual  by  their  onl} 
man-servant,  and  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  was  sitting  in  the  little 
parlor,  in  momentary  expectation  of  her  friends,  by  her- 
self. The  sound  of  footsteps  drew  her  to  the  door,  which 
she  opened  for  the  admission  of  the  wretch  whose  treach- 
ery to  her  dying  husband's  requests  had  given  her  so  much 


£72  PRECA  UTION. 

uneasiness.  Horror — fear — surprise — altogether,  prevent- 
ed her  from  making  any  alarm  at  the  moment,  and  she 
sank  into  a  chair.  He  stood  between  her  and  the  door,  as 
he  endeavored  to  draw  her  into  a  conversation  ;  he  assured 
her  she  had  nothing  to  fear  ;  that  he  loved  her,  and  her 
-alone  ;  that  he  was  about  to  be  married  to  a  daughter  of 
Sir  Edward  Moseley,  but  would  give  her  up,  fortune, 
everything,  if  she  would  consent  to  become  his  wife — that 
the  views  of  her  protector,  he  doubted  not,  were  dishonor- 
able— that  he  himself  was  willing  to  atone  for  his  former 
excess  of  passion,  by  a  life  devoted  to  her. 

How  mlich  longer  he  would  have  gone  on,  and  what 
further  he  would  have  offered,  is  unknown  ;  for  Mrs.  Fitz- 
gerald, having  recovered  herself  a  little,  darted  to  the  bell 
on  the  other  side  of  the  room.  He  tried  to  prevent  her 
ringing  it,  but  was  too  late  ;  a  short  struggle  followed, 
when  the  sound  of  the  footsteps  of  the  maid  compelled  him 
to  retreat  precipitately.  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  added,  that  his 
assertion  concerning  Miss  Moseley  had  given  her  incred- 
ible uneasiness,  and  prevented  her  making  the  communi- 
cation yesterday ;  but  she  understood  this  morning 
through  her  maid,  that  a  Colonel  Egerton,  who  had  been 
supposed  to  be  engaged  to  one  of  Sir  Edward's  daughters, 
had  eloped  with  another  lady.  That  Egerton  was  her  per- 
secutor, she  did  not  now  entertain  a  doubt  ;  but  that  it 
was  in  the  power  of  Mrs.  Wilson  probably  to  make  the  dis- 
covery, as  in  the  struggle  between  them  for  the  bell,  a 
pocket-book  had  fallen  from  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat, 
and  his  retreat  was  too  sudden  to  recover  it. 

As  she  put  the  book  into  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Wilson,  she 
desired  she  would  take  means  to  return  it  to  its  owner  ;  its 
contents  might  be  of  value,  though  she  had  not  thought  it 
correct  to  examine  it.  Mrs.  Wilson  took  the  book,  and  as 
she  dropped  it  into  her  work-bag,  smiled  at  the  Spanish 
punctilio  of  her  friend  in  not  looking  into  her  prize  under 
the  peculiar  circumstances. 

A  few  questions  as  to  the  place  and  year  of  his  first 
attempts,  soon  convinced  her  it  was  Egerton  whose  un- 
licensed passions  had  given  so  much  trouble  to  Mrs.  Fitz- 
gerald. He  had  served  but  one  campaign  in  Spain,  and  in 
that  year,  and  that  division  of  the  army  ;  and  surely  hh 
principles  were  no  restraint  upon  his  conduct.  Mrs.  Fitz- 
gerald begged  the  advice  of  her  more  experienced  friend 
as  to  the  steps  she  ought  to  take  ;  to  which  the  former 
asked  if  she  had  made  Lord  Pendennyss  acquainted  with 


PR  EC  A  UTIOtf.  173 

the  occurrence.  The  young  widow's  cheek  glowed  as  she 
answered,  that,  at  the  same  time  she  felt  assured  the  base 
insinuation  of  Egerton  was  unfounded,  it  had  created  a 
repugnance  in  her  to  troubling  the  earl  any  more  than  was 
necessary  in  her  affairs  ;  and  as  she  kissed  the  hand  of  Mrs. 
Wilson,  she  added — "besides,  your  goodness,  my  dear 
madam,  renders  any  other  adviser  unnecessary  now."  Mrs. 
Wilson  pressed  her  hand  affectionately,  and  assured  her  of 
her  good  wishes  and  unaltered  esteem.  She  commended 
her  delicacy,  and  plainly  told  the  young  widow,  that  how- 
ever unexceptionable  the  character  of  Pendennyss  might 
be,  a  female  friend  was  the  only  one  a  woman  in  her  situa- 
tion could  repose  confidence  in,  without  justly  incurring 
the  sarcasms  of  the  world. 

As  Egerton  was  now  married,  and  would  not  probably 
offer,  for  the  present  at  least,  any  further  molestation  to 
Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  it  was  concluded  to  be  unnecessary  to  take 
any  immediate  measures  of  precaution  ;  and  Mrs.  Wilson 
thought  the  purse  of  Mr.  Jarvis  might  be  made  the  means 
of  keeping  him  within  proper  bounds  in  future.  The 
merchant  was  prompt,  and  not  easily  intimidated  ;  and  the 
slightest  intimation  of  the  truth  would,  she  knew,  be  suf- 
ficient to  engage  him  on  their  side,  heart  and  hand. 

The  ladies  parted,  with  a  promise  of  meeting  soon  again, 
and  an  additional  interest  in  each  other  by  the  communi- 
cations of  that  and  the  preceding  day. 

Mrs.  Wilson  had  ridden  half  the  distance  between  the 
cottage  and  the  lodge,  before  it  occurred  to  her  they  had 
not  absolutely  ascertained,  by  the  best  means  in  their  pos- 
session, the  identity  of  Colonel  Egerton  with  Julia's  perse- 
cutor. She  accordingly  took  the  pocket-book  from  her 
bag,  and  opened  it  for  examination  ;  a  couple  of  letters 
fell  from  it  into  her  lap,  and  conceiving  their  direction 
would  establish  all  she  wished  to  know,  as  they  had  been 
read,  she  turned  to  the  superscription  of  one  of  them,  and 
saw — "  George  Denbigh,  Esq.,"  in  the  well-known  hand- 
writing of  Dr.  Ives.  Mrs.  Wilson  felt  herself  overcome  to 
a  degree  that  compelled  her  to  lower  a  glass  of  the  carriage 
for  air.  She  sat  gazing  on  the  letters  until  the  characters 
swam  before  her  eyes  in  undistinguished  confusion  ;  and 
with  difficulty  she  rallied  her  thoughts  to  the  point  nec- 
essary for  investigation.  As  soon  as  she  found  herself 
equal  to  the  task,  she  examined  the  letters  with  the  closest 
scrutiny,  and  opened  them  both  to  be  sure  there  was  no 
mistake.  She  saw  the  dates,  the  "  dear  George  "  at  the 


174  PRECA  UTION-. 

commencements,  and  the  doctor's  name  subscribed,  before 
she  would  believe  they  were  real ;  it  was  then  the  truth 
appeared  to  break  upon  her  in  a  flood  of  light.  The  aver- 
sion of  Denbigh  to  speak  of  Spain,  or  of  his  services  in 
that  country — his  avoiding  Sir  Herbert  Nicholson,  and 
that  gentleman's  observations  respecting  him — Colonel 
Egerton's  and  his  own  manners — his  absence  from  the  ball,, 
and  startling  looks  on  the  following  morning,  and  at  differ- 
ent times  before  and  since — his  displeasure  at  the  name  of 
Pendennyss  on  various  occasions — and  his  cheerful  accept- 
ance of  her  invitation  to  ride  until  he  knew  her  destination, 
and  singular  manner  of  leaving  her — were  all  accounted 
for  by  this  dreadful  discovery,  and  Mrs.  Wilson  found  the 
solution  of  her  doubts  rushing  on  her  mind  with  a  force 
and  rapidity  that  sickened  her. 

The  misfortunes  of  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  the  unfortunate 
issue  to  the  passion  of  Jane,  were  trifles  in  the  estimation 
of  Mrs.  Wilson,  compared  to  the  discovery  of  Denbigh's 
unworthiness.  She  revolved  in  her  mind  his  conduct  on 
various  occasions,  and  wondered  how  one  who  could  be- 
have so  well  in  common,  could  thus  yield  to  temptation  on 
a  particular  occasion.  His  recent  attempts,  his  hypocrisy, 
however,  proved  that  his  villany  was  systematic,  and  she 
was  not  weak  enough  to  hide  from  herself  the  evidence  of 
his  guilt,  or  of  its  enormity.  His  interposition  between 
Emily  and  death,  she  attributed  now  to  natural  courage, 
and  perhaps  in  some  measure  to  chance  ;  but  his  profound 
and  unvarying  reverence  for  holy  things,  his  consistent 
charity,  his  refusing  to  fight,  to  what  were  they  owing? 
And  Mrs.  Wilson  mourned  the  weakness  of  human  nature, 
while  she  acknowledged  to  herself,  there  might  be  men, 
qualified  by  nature,  and  even  disposed  by  reason  and 
grace,  to  prove  ornaments  to  religion  and  the  world,  who 
fell  beneath  the  maddening  influence  cf  their  besetting 
sins.  The  superficial  and  interested  vice?  of  Egerton  van- 
ished before  these  awful  and  deeply  seated  offences  of 
Denbigh,  and  the  correct  widow  saw  at  a  glance  that  he 
was  the  last  man  to  be  intrusted  with  the  happiness  of  her 
niece  ;  but  how  to  break  this  heart-rending  discovery  to 
Emily  was  a  new  source  of  uneasiness  to  her,  and  the  car- 
riage stopped  at  the  door  of  the  lodge  ere  she  had  deter- 
mined on  the  first  step  required  of  her  by  duty. 

Her  brother  handed  her  out,  and,  filled  with  the  dread 
that  Denbigh  had  availed  himself  of  the  opportunity  of  her 
absence  to  press  his  suit  with  Emily,  she  eagerly  inquired 


PRECAUTION.  175 

after  him.  She  was  rejoiced  to  hear  he  had  returned  with 
John  for  a  fowling-piece,  and  together  they  had  gone  in 
pursuit  of  game,  although  she  saw  in  it  a  convincing  proof 
that  a  desire  to  avoid  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  and  not  indisposi- 
tion, had  induced  him  to  leave  her.  As  a  last  alternative, 
she  resolved  to  have  the  pocket-book  returned  to  him  in 
her  presence,  in  order  to  see  if  he  acknowledged  it  to  be  his 
property  ;  and,  accordingly,  she  instructed  her  own  man 
to  hand  it  to  him  while  at  dinner,  simply  saying  he  had 
lost  it. 

The  open  and  unsuspecting  air  with  which  her  niece  met 
Denbigh  on  his  return,  gave  Mrs.  W.lson  an  additional 
shock,  and  she  could  hardly  commr  :d  herself  sufficiently 
to  extend  the  common  courtesies  of  good  breeding  to  Mr. 
Benfield's  guest. 

While  sitting  at  the  dessert,  her  servant  handed  the 
pocket-book  as  directed  by  his  mistress,  to  its  owner,  say- 
ing, "Your  pocket-book,  I  believe,  Mr.  Denbigh."  Den- 
bigh took  the  book,  and  held  it  in  his  hand  for  a  moment 
in  surprise,  and  then  fixed  his  eye  keenly  on  the  man,  as 
he  inquired  where  he  found  it,  and  how  he  knew  it  was 
his.  These  were  interrogatories  Francis  was  not  prepared 
to  answer,  and  in  his  confusion  he  naturally  turned  his 
eyes  on  his  mistress.  Denbigh  followed  their  direction 
with  his  own,  and  in  encountering  the  looks  of  the  lady, 
he  asked  in  a  stammering  manner,  and  with  a  face  of  scar- 
let— 

"Am  I  indebted  to  you,  madam,  for  my  property?" 

"  No,  sir  ;  it  was  given  to  me  by  one  who  found  it,  to 
restore  it  to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  gravely,  and  the 
subject  was  dropped,  both  appearing  willing  to  say  no 
more.  Yet  Denbigh  was  abstracted  and  absent  during  the 
remainder  of  the  repast,  and  Emily  spoke  to  him  once  or 
twice  without  obtaining  an  answer.  Mrs.  Wilson  caught  his 
eye  several  times  fixed  on  her  with  an  inquiring  and  doubt- 
ful expression,  that  convinced  her  he  was  alarmed.  If  any 
confirmation  of  his  guilt  had  been  wanting,  the  conscious- 
ness he  betrayed  during  this  scene  afforded  it  ;  and  she  set 
seriously  about  considering  the  shortest  and  best  method 
of  interrupting  his  intercourse  with  Emily,  before  he  had 
drawn  from  her  an  acknowledgment  of  her  love. 


176  PRECA  UTION. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

ON  withdrawing  to  her  dressing-room  after  dinner,  Mrs. 
Wilson  commenced  the  disagreeable  duty  of  removing  the 
veil  from  the  eyes  of  her  niece,  by  recounting  to  her  the 
substance  of  Mrs.  Fitzgerald's  last  communication.  To 
the  innocence  of  Emily  such  persecution  could  excite  no 
other  sensations  than  surprise  and  horror ;  and  as  her  aunt 
omitted  the  part  concerning  the  daughter  of  Sir  Edward 
Moseley,  she  naturally  expressed  her  wonder  as  to  who 
the  wretch  could  be. 

"  Possibly,  aunt,"  she  said,  with  an  involuntary  shudder, 
"  some  of  the  many  gentlemen  we  have  lately  seen,  and 
one  who  has  had  art  enough  to  conceal  his  real  character 
from  the  world." 

"Concealment,  my  love,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilson,  " would 
be  hardly  necessary.  Such  is  the  fashionable  laxity  of 
morals,  that  I  doubt  not  many  of  his  associates  would  laugh 
at  his  misconduct,  and  that  he  would  still  continue  to  pass 
with  the  world  as  an  honorable  man." 

"And  ready,"  cried  her  niece,  "to  sacrifice  human  life, 
in  the  defence  of  any  ridiculous  punctilio." 

"Or,"  added  Mrs.  Wilson,  striving  to  draw  nearer  to 
her  subject,  "  with  a  closer  veil  of  hypocrisy,  wear  even 
an  affectation  of  principle  and  moral  feeling  that  would 
seem  to  forbid  such  a  departure  from  duty  in  favor  of 
custom." 

"  Oh  !  no,  dear  aunt,"  exclaimed  Emily,  with  glowing 
cheeks  and  eyes  dancing  with  pleasure,  "  he  woul'd  hardly 
dare  to  be  so  very  base.  It  would  be  profanity." 

Mrs.  Wilson  sighed  heavily  as  she  witnessed  that  con- 
fiding esteem  which  would  not  permit  her  niece  even  to 
suspect  that  an  act  which  in  Denbigh  had  been  so  warmly 
applauded,  could,  even  in  another,  proceed  from  unworthy 
motives ;  and  she  found  it  would  be  necessary  to  speak  in 
the  plainest  terms,  to  awaken  her  suspicions.  Willing, 
however,  to  come  gradually  to  the  distressing  truth,  she  re- 
plied— 

"And  yet,  my  dear,  men  who  pride  themselves  greatly 
on  their  morals,  nay,  even  some  who  wear  the  mask  of  re- 
ligion, and  perhaps  deceive  themselves,  admit  and  practise 
this  very  appeal  to  arms.  Such  inconsistencies  are  by  no 
means  uncommon.  And  why  then  might  there  not,  with 


PRECAUTION'.  177 

equal  probability,  be  others  who  would  revolt  at  murder, 
and  yet  not  hesitate  being  guilty  of  lesser  enormities? 
This  is,  in  some  measure,  the  case  of  every  man  ;  and  it  is 
only  to  consider  killing  in  unlawful  encounters  as  murder, 
to  make  it  one  in  point." 

"  Hypocrisy  is  so  mean  a  vice,  I  should  not  think  a  brave 
man  could  stoop  to  it,"  said  Emily,  "and  Julia  admits  he 
was  brave." 

"  And  would  not  a  brave  man  revolt  at  the  cowardice  of 
insulting  an  unprotected  woman  ?  And  your  hero  did  that 
too,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilson,  bitterly,  losing  her  self-com- 
mand in  indignation. 

"  Oh !  do  not  call  him  my  hero,  I  beg  of  you,  dear  aunt," 
said  Emily,  starting,  excited  by  so  extraordinary  an  illu- 
sion, but  instantly  losing  the  unpleasant  sensation  in  the 
delightful  consciousness  of  the  superiority  of  the  man  on 
whom  she  had  bestowed  her  own  admiration. 

"  In  fact,  my  child,"  continued  her  aunt,  "our  natures  are 
guilty  of  the  grossest  inconsistencies.  The  vilest  wretch 
has  generally  some  property  on  which  he  values  himself, 
and  the  most  perfect  are  too  often  frail  on  some  tender 
point.  Long  and  tried  friendships  are  those  only  which 
can  be  trusted,  and  these  oftentimes  fail." 

Emily  looked  at  her  aunt  in  surprise  at  hearing  her 
utter  such  unusual  sentiments  ;  for  Mrs.  Wilson,  at  the  same 
time  she  had,  by  divine  assistance,  deeply  impressed  her 
niece  with  the  frailty  of  her  nature,  had  withheld  the  dis- 
gusting representation  of  human  vices  from  her  view,  as  un- 
necessary to  her  situation  and  dangerous  to  her  humility. 

After  a  short  pause,  Mrs.  Wilson  continued,  "  Marriage 
is  a  fearful  step  in  a  woman,  and  one  she  is  compelled,  in 
some  measure,  to  adventure  her  happiness  on,  without  fit- 
ting opportunities  of  judging  of  the  merit  of  the  man  she 
confides  in.  Jane  is  an  instance  in  point,  but  I  devoutly 
hope  you  are  not  to  be  another." 

While  speaking,  Mrs.  Wilson  had  taken  the  hand  of 
Emily,  and  by  her  looks  and  solemn  manner  she  had  suc- 
ceeded in  alarming  her  niece,  although  Denbigh  was  yet 
furthest  from  the  thoughts  of  Emily.  The  aunt  reached 
her  a  glass  of  water,  and  willing  to  get  rid  of  the  hateful 
subject,  she  continued,  hurriedly,  "  Did  you  not  notice  the 
pocket-book  Francis  gave  to  Mr.  Denbigh  ? "  .Emily  fixed 
her  inquiring  eyes  on  her  aunt,  as  the  other  added,  "  It 
was  the  one  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  gave  me  to-day."  Something 
like  an  indefinite  glimpse  of  the  facts  crossed  the  mind  of 


r7S  PRECAUTION. 

Emily  ;  and  as  it  most  obviously  involved  a  separation  frdm 
Denbigh,  she  sank  lifeless  into  the  extended  arms  of  her 
aunt  This  had  been  anticipated  by  Mrs.  Wilson,  and  a 
timely  application  of  restoratives  soon  brought  her  back 
to  a  consciousness  of  misery.  Mrs.  Wilson,  unwilling  any 
one  but  herself  should  witness  this  first  burst  of  grief,  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  her  niece  to  her  own  room  and  in  bed. 
Emily  made  no  lamentations — shed  no  tears — asked  no 
questions — her  eye  was  fixed,  and  every  faculty  appeared 
oppressed  with  the  load  on  her  heart.  Mrs.  Wilson  knew 
her  situation  too  well  to  intrude  with  unseasonable  conso- 
lation or  useless  reflections,  but  sat  patiently  by  her  side, 
waiting  anxiously  for  the  moment  she  could  be  of  service. 
At  fength  the  uplifted  eyes  and  clasped  hands  of  Emily 
assured  her  she  had  not  forgotten  herself  or  her  duty,  and 
she  was  rewarded  for  her  labor  and  forbearance  by  a  flood 
of  tears.  Emily  was  now  able  to  listen  to  a  more  full 
statement  of  the  reasons  her  aunt  had  for  believing  in  the 
guilt  of  Denbigh,  and  she  felt  as  if  her  heart  was  frozen 
up  forever,  as  the  proofs  followed  each  other  until  they 
amounted  to  demonstration.  As  there  was  some  indica- 
tion of  fever  from  her  agitated  state  of  mind,  her  aunt  re- 
quired she  should  remain  in  her  room  until  morning  ;  and 
Emily,  feeling  every  way  unequal  to  a  meeting  with  Den- 
bigh, gladly  assented.  After  ringing  for  her  maid  to  sit 
in  the  adjoining  room,  Mrs.  Wilson  went  below,  and  an- 
nounced to  the  family  the  indisposition  of  her  charge  and 
her  desire  to  obtain  a  little  sleep.  Denbigh  looked  anxious 
to  inquire  after  the  health  of  Emily,  but  there  was  a  re- 
straint on  all  his  actions  since  the  return  of  his  book  that 
persuaded  Mrs.  Wilson  he  apprehended  that  a  detection 
of  his  conduct  had  taken  place.  He  did  venture  to  ask 
when  they  were  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Miss  Mose- 
ley  again,  hoping  it  would  be  that  evening,  as  he  had  fixed 
the  morning  for  his  departure  ;  and  when  he  learned  that 
Emily  had  retired  for  the  night,  his  anxiety  was  sensibly 
increased,  and  he  instantly  withdrew.  Mrs.  Wilson  was 
alone  in  the  drawing-room,  and  about  to  join  her  niece,  as 
Denbigh  entered  it  with  a  letter  in  his  hand  :  he  approached 
her  with  a  diffident  and  constrained  manner,  and  com- 
menced the  following  dialogue  : 

"  My  anxiety  arid  situation  will  plead  my  apology  for 
troubling  Miss  Moseley  at  this  time — may  I  ask  you, 
madam,  to  deliver  this  letter — I  hardly  dare  ask  you  for 
your  good  offices." 


PRECAUTION.  179 

Mrs.  Wilson  took  the  letter,  and  coldly  replied, 

"Certainly,  sir  ;  and  I  sincerely  wish  I  could  be  of  any 
real  service  to  you." 

"  I  perceive,  madam,"  said  Denbigh,  like  one  that  was 
choking,  "  I  have  forfeited  your  good  opinion — that  pocket- 
book  "- 

"  Has  made  a  dreadful  discovery,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson, 
shuddering. 

"  Will  riot  one  offence  be  pardoned,  dear  madam  ? "  cried 
Denbigh,  with  warmth;  "if  you  knew  my  circumstances 
— the  cruel  reasons — why — why  did  I  neglect  the  paternal 
advice  of  Dr.  Ives?" 

"  It  is  not  yet  too  late,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  more 
mildly,  "  for  your  own  good ;  as  for  us,  your  decep- 
tion "- 

"  Is  unpardonable — I  see  it — I  feel  it,"  cried  he,  in  the 
accent  of  despair;  "yet  Emily — Emily  may  relent — you 
will  at  least  give  her  my  letter — anything  is  better  than 
this  suspense." 

"  You  shall  have  an  answer  from  Emily  this  evening, 
and  one  entirely  unbiassed  by  me,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson.  As 
she  closed  the  door,  she  observed  Denbigh  gazing  on  her 
retiring  figure  with  a  countenance  of  despair,  that  caused 
a  feeling  of  pity  to  mingle  with  her  detestation  of  his  vices. 

On  opening  the  door  of  Emily's  room,  Mrs.  Wilson  found 
her  niece  in  tears,  and  her  anxiety  for  her  health  was  alle- 
viated. She  knew  or  hoped,  that  if  she  could  once  call  in 
the  assistance  of  her  judgment  and  piety  to  lessen  her  sor- 
rows, Emily,  however  she  might  mourn,  would  become  re- 
signed to  her  situation  ;  and  the  first  step  to  attain  this  was 
the  exercise  of  those  faculties  which  had  been,  as  it  were, 
momentarily  annihilated.  Mrs.  Wilson  kissed  her  niece 
with  tenderness,  as  she  placed  the  letter  in  her  hand,  and 
told  her  she  would  call  for  her  answer  within  an  hour. 
Employment,  and  the  necessity  of  acting,  would,  she 
thought,  be  the  surest  means  of  reviving  her  energies  ;  nor 
was  she  disappointed.  When  the  aunt  returned  for  the  ex- 
pected answer,  she  was  informed  by  the  maid  in  the  ante- 
chamber, that  Miss  Moseley  was  up,  and  had  been  writing. 
On  entering,  Mrs.  Wilson  stood  a  moment  in  admiration 
of  the  picture  before  her.  Emily  was  on  her  knees,  and, 
by  her  side,  on  the  carpet,  lay  the  letter  and  its  answer ; 
her  face  was  hid  by  her  hair,  and  her  hands  were  closed  in 
the  fervent  grasp  of  petition.  In  a  minute  she  rose,  and 
approaching  her  aunt  with  an  air  of  profound  resignation, 


iSo  PRECA  UTION. 

but  great  steadiness,  she  handed  her  the  letters,  her  own 
unsealed  : 

"  Read  them,  madam,  and  if  you  approve  of  mine,  I  will 
thank  you  to  deliver  it." 

Her  aunt  folded  her  in  her  arms,  until  Emily,  finding 
herself  yielding  under  the  effects  of  sympathy,  begged  to 
be  left  alone.  On  withdrawing  to  her  own  room,  Mrs. 
Wilson  read  the  contents  of  the  two  letters. 

"  I  rely  greatly  on  the  goodness  of  Miss  Moseley  to  par- 
don the  liberty  I  am  taking,  at  a  moment  she  is  so  unfit  foi 
such  a  subject ;  but  my  departure — my  feelings — must 
plead  my  apology.  From  the  moment  of  my  first  acquaint- 
ance with  you,  I  have  been  a  cheerful  subject  to  your 
loveliness  and  innocence.  I  feel — I  know— I  am  not  de- 
serving of  such  a  blessing ;  but  since  knowing  you,  as  I 
do,  it  is  impossible  not  to  strive  to  win  you.  You  have 
often  thanked  me  as  the  preserver  of  your  life,  but  you 
little  knew  the  deep  interest  I  had  in  its  safety.  Without 
it,  my  own  would  be  valueless.  By  accepting  my  offered 
hand,  you  will  place  me  among  the  happiest,  or,  by  reject- 
ing it,  the  most  wretched  of  men." 

To  this  note  which  was  unsigned,  and  evidently  written 
under  great  agitation  of  mind,  Emily  had  penned  the  fol- 
lowing reply  : 

"  Sir — It  is  with  much  regret  that  I  find  myself  reduced 
to  the  possibility  of  giving  uneasiness  to  one  to  whom  I 
am  under  such  heavy  obligations.  It  will  never  be  in  my 
power  to  accept  the  honor  you  have  offered  me  ;  and  I  beg 
you  to  receive  my  thanks  for  the  compliment  conveyed  in 
your  request,  as  well  as  my  good  wishes  for  your  happi- 
ness in  future,  and  fervent  prayers  that  you  may  be  ever 
tound  worthy  of  it.  Your  humble  servant, 

"  EMILY  MOSELEY." 

Perfectly  satisfied  with  this  answer,  Mrs.  Wilson  went 
below  in  order  to  deliver  it  at  once.  She  thought  it  prob- 
able, as  Denbigh  had  already  sent  his  baggage  to  a  tavern, 
preparatory  to  his  intended  journey,  they  would  not  meet 
again  ;  and  as  she  felt  a  strong  wish,  both  on  account  of 
Dr.  Ives,  and  out  of  respect  to  the  services  of  the  young 
man  himself,  to  conceal  his  conduct  from  the  world  en- 
tirely, she  was  in  hopes  that  his  absence  might  make  any 


PRECA  C/TJOW.  181 

disclosure  unnecessary.  He  took  the  letter  from  her  with 
a  trembling  hand,  and  casting  one  of  his  very  expressive 
looks  at  her,  as  if  to  read  her  thoughts,  he  withdrew. 

Emily  had  fallen  asleep  free  from  fever,  and  Mrs.  Wilson 
had  descended  to  the  supper-room,  when  Mr.  Benfield  was 
first  struck  with  the  absence  of  his  favorite.  An  inquiry 
after  Denbigh  was  instituted,  and,  while  they  were  waiting 
his  appearance,  a  servant  handed  the  old, man  a  note. 

"  From  whom  ?"  cried  Mr.  Benfield,  in  surprise. 

"  Mr.  Denbigh,  sir."  said  the  servant. 

"  Mr.  Denbigh  ?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Benfield  :  "  no  acci- 
dent, I  hope — I  remember  when  Lord  Gosford — here, 
Peter,  your  eyes  are  young  ;  read  it  for  me,  read  it  aloud." 

As  all  but  Mrs.  Wilson  were  anxiously  waiting  to  know 
the  meaning  of  this  message,  and  Peter  had  many  prepara- 
tions to  go  through  before  his  youthful  eyes  could  make 
out  the  contents,  John  hastily  caught  the  letter  out  of  his 
hand,  saying  he  would  save  him  the  trouble,  and,  in  obe- 
dience to  his  uncle's  wishes,  he  read  aloud : 

"Mr.  Denbigh,  being  under  the  necessity  of  leaving 
L immediately,  and,  unable  to  endure  the  pain  of  tak- 
ing leave,  avails  himself  of  this  means  of  tendering  his 
warmest  thanks  to  Mr.  Benfield,  for  his  hospitality,  and  to 
his  amiable  guests  for  their  many  kindnesses.  As  he  con- 
templates leaving  England,  he  desires  to  wish  them  all  a 
long  and  an  affectionate  farewell." 

"  Farewell !  "  cried  Mr.  Benfield  ;  "  farewell — does  he  say 
farewell,  John  ?  Here  Peter,  run — no,  you  are  too  old — 
John,  run — bring  my  hat ;  I'll  go  myself  to  the  village — 
some  love-quarrel — Emmy  sick — and  Denbigh  going  away 
— yes — yes,  I  did  so  myself — Lady  Juliana,  poor  dear  soul, 
she  was  a  long  time  before  she  could  forget  it — but  Peter  " 
— Peter  had  disappeared  the  instant  the  letter  was  finished, 
and  he  was  quickly  followed  by  John.  Sir  Edward  and 
Lady  Moseley  were  lost  in  amazement  at  this  sudden  and 
unexpected  movement  of  Denbigh,  and  the  breast  of  each 
of  the  affectionate  parents  was  filled  with  a  vague  appre- 
hension that  the  peace  of  mind  of  another  child  was  at 
stake.  Jane  felt  a  renewal  of  her  woes,  in  the  anticipation 
of  something  similar  for  her  sister — for  the  fancy  of  Jane 
was  yet  active,  and  she  did  not  cease  to  consider  the  defec- 
tion of  Egerton  a  kind  of  unmerited  misfortune  and  fatal- 
ity, instead  of  a  probable  consequence  of  want  of  principle. 


182  PRECA  UT1ON. 

Like  Mr.  Benfield,  she  was  in  danger  of  raising  an  ideal 
idol,  and  of  spending  the  remainder  of  her  days  in  devo- 
tion to  qualities,  rarely  if  ever  found  identified  with  a  per- 
son that  never  had  existed.  The  old  gentleman  was  en- 
tirely engrossed  by  a  different  object  ;  and,  having  in  his 
own  opinion  decided  there  must  have  been  one  of  those 
misunderstandings  which  sometimes  had  occurred  to  him- 
self and  Lady  Juliana,  he  quietly  composed  himself  to  eat 
his  salad  at  the  supper-table  :  on  turning  his  head,  how- 
ever, in  quest  of  his  first  glass  of  wine,  he  observed  Peter 
standing  quietly  by  the  sideboard  with  the  favorite  goggles 
over  his  eyes.  Now  Peter  was  troubled  with  two  kinds  of 
debility  about  his  organs  of  vision  ;  one  was  age  and  natu- 
ral weakness,  while  the  other  proceeded  more  directly  from 
the  heart.  His  master  knew  of  these  facts,  and  he  took 
the  alarm.  Again  the  wine-glass  dropped  from  his  nerve- 
less hand,  as  he  said  in  a  trembling  tone  : 

"  Peter,  I  thought  you  went  "- 

"Yes,  master,"  said  Peter,  laconically. 

"You  saw  him,  Peter — will  he  return  ?" 

Peter  was  busily  occupied  at  his  glasses,  although  no 
one  was  dry. 

"Peter,"  repeated  Mr.  Benfield,  rising  from  his  seat,  "is 
he  coming  in  time  for  supper  ?  " 

Peter  was  obliged  to  reply,  and  deliberately  uncasing 
his  eyes  and  blowing  his  nose,  he  was  on  the  point  of 
opening  his  mouth  as  John  came  into  the  room,  and  threw 
himself  into  a  chair  with  an  air  of  great  vexation.  Peter 
pointed  to  the  young  gentleman  in  silence,  and  retired. 

"John,"  cried  Sir  Edward,  "where  is  Denbigh  ?" 

''Gone,  sir." 

"Gone?" 

"Yes,  my  dear  father,"  said  John,  "gone  without  saying 
good-by  to  one  of  us — without  telling  us  whither,  or  when 
to  return.  It  was  cruel  in  him — unkind — I'll  never  forgive 
him  " — and  John,  whose  feelings  were  strong,  and  unusu- 
ally excited,  hid  his  face  between  his  hands  on  the  table. 
As  he  raised  his  head  to  reply  to  a  question  of  Mr.  Benfield 
— of  "  how  he  knew  he  had  gone,  for  the  coach  did  not  go 
until  daylight  ? "  Mrs.  Wilson  saw  evident  marks  of  tears. 
Such  proofs  of  emotion  in  one  like  John  Moseley  gave  her 
the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  if  she  had  been  deceived, 
it  was  by  a  concurrence  of  circumstances  and  a  depth  of 
hypocrisy  almost  exceeding  belief  :  self-reproach  added  less 
than  common,  therefore,  to  the  uneasiness  of  the  moment. 


PRECA  UTION.  183 

"I  saw  the  innkeeper,  uncle,"  said  John,  "who  told  me 
that  Denbigh  left  there  at  eight  o'clock  in  a  post-chaise 
and  four  ;  but  I  will  go  to  London  in  the  morning  myself." 
This  was  no  sooner  said  than  it  was  corroborated  by  acts, 
for  the  young  man  immediately  commenced  his  prepara- 
tions for  the  journey.  The  family  separated  that  evening 
with  melancholy  hearts  ;  and  the  host  and  his  privy  coun- 
sellor were  closeted  for  half  an  hour  ere  they  retired  to 
their  night's  repose.  John  took  his  leave  of  them,  and 
left  the  lodge  for  the  inn,  with  his  man,  in  order  to  be 
ready  for  the  mail.  Mrs.  Wilson  looked  in  upon  Emily 
before  she  withdrew  herself,  and  found  her  awake,  but 
perfectly  calm  and  composed  :  she  said  but  little,  appear- 
ing desirous  of  avoiding  all  allusions  to  Denbigh  ;  and 
after  her  aunt  had  simply  acquainted  her  with  his  depart- 
ure, and  her  resolution  to  conceal  the  cause,  the  subject 
was  dropped.  Mrs.  Wilson,  on  entering  her  own  room, 
thought  deeply  on  the  discoveries  of  the  day  ;  they  had  in- 
terfered with  her  favorite  system  of  morals,  baffled  her 
ablest  calculations  upon  causes  and  effects,  but  in  no  de- 
gree had  impaired  her  faith  or  reliance  on  Providence. 
She  knew  one  exception  did  not  destroy  a  rule  :  she  was 
certain  without  principles  there  was  no  security  for  good 
conduct,  and  the  case  of  Denbigh  proved  it.  To  discover 
these  principles,  might  be  difficult ;  but  was  a  task  imperi- 
ously required  at  her  hands,  as  she  believed,  ere  she  yielded 
the  present  and  future  happiness  of  her  pupil  to  the  power 
of  any  man. 


i    CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  day  had  not  yet  dawned,  when  John  Moseley  was 
summoned  to  take  his  seat  in  the  mail  for  London.  Three 
of  the  places  were  already  occupied,  and  John  was  com- 
pelled to  get  a  seat  for  his  man  on  the  outside.  An  inter- 
course with  strangers  is  particularly  irksome  to  an  Eng- 
lishman, and  none  appeared  disposed,  for  a  long  time,  to 
break  the  silence.  The  coach  had  left  the  little  village  of 
L —  -  far  behind  it,  before  any  of  the  rational  beings  it 
contained  thought  it  prudent  or  becoming  to  bend  in  the 
least  to  the  charities  of  our  nature,  in  a  communication 
with  a  fellow-creature  of  whose  name  or  condition  he  hap- 
pened to  be  ignorant.  This  reserve  is  unquestionably" 
characteristic  of  the  nation  ;  to  what  is  it  owing — modesty  ? 


1 54  PRECA  UTION-. 

Did  not  national  and  deep  personal  vanity  appear  at  once 
to  refute  the  assertion,  we  might  enter  into  an  investiga- 
tion of  it.  The  good  opinion  of  himself  in  an  Englishman 
is  more  deeply  seated,  though  less  buoyant,  than  that  of 
his  neighbors  ;  in  them  it  is  more  of  manner,  in  us  more  of 
feeling  ;  and  the  wound  inflicted  on  the  self-love  of  the 
two  is  very  different.  The  Frenchman  wonders  at  its  rude- 
ness, but  soon  forgets  the  charge  ;  while  an  Englishman 
broods  over  it  in  silence  and  mortification.  It  is  said  this 
distinction  in  character  is  owing  to  the  different  estimation 
of  principles  and  morals  in  the  two  nations.  The  solidity 
and  purity  of  our  ethics  and  religious  creeds  may  have 
given  a  superior  tone  to  our  moral  feeling  ;  but  has  that 
man  a  tenable  ground  to  value  himself  on  either,  whose 
respect  to  sacred  things  grows  out  of  a  respect  to  himself  : 
on  the  other  hand,  is  not  humility  the  very  foundation  of 
the  real  Christian  ?  For  our  part,  we  should  be  glad  to 
see  this  national  reserve  lessened,  if  not  done  entirely 
away  ;  we  believe  it  is  founded  in  pride  and  uncharitable- 
ness,  and  could  wish  to  see  men  thrown  accidentally  to- 
gether on  the  roads  of  the  country,  mindful  that  they  are 
also  travelling  in  company  the  highway  of  life,  and  that 
the  goal  of  their  destination  is  equally  attainable  by  all. 

John  Moseley  was  occupied  with  thoughts  very  different 
from  those  of  any  of  his  fellow-travellers,  as  they  proceeded 
rapidly  on  their  route  ;  and  it  was  only  when  roused  from 
his  meditations  by  accidentally  coming  in  contact  with 
the  hilt  of  a  sword,  that  he  looked  up,  and  in  the  glimmev 
ings  of  the  morning's  light  recognized  the  person  of 
Lord  Henry  Stapleton  :  their  eyes  met,  and — "  My  Lord," 
— "  Mr.  Moseley," — were  repeated  in  mutual  surprise. 
John  was  eminently  a  social  being,  and  he  was  happy  to 
find  recourse  against  his  gloomy  thoughts  in  the  conversa- 
tion of  the  dashing  young  sailor.  The  frigate  of  the  other 
had  entered  the  bay  the  night  before,  and  he  was  going  to 
town  to  the  wedding  of  his  sister  ;  the  coach  of  his  brother 
the  marquis  was  to  meet  him  about  twenty  miles  from 
town,  and  the  ship  was  ordered  round  to  Yarmouth,  where 
he  was  to  rejoin  her. 

"  But  how  are  your  lovely  sisters,  Moseley  ?  "  cried  the 
young  sailor,  in  a  frank  and  careless  manner.  "  I  should 
have  been  half  in  love  with  one  of  them  if  I  had  time — 
and  money ;  both  are  necessary  to  marriage  nowadays, 
you  know." 

"  As  to  time/'  said  John,  with  a  laugh,  "  I   believe  that 


PRECA  UTION".  i$5 

may  be  dispensed  with,  though  money  is  certainly  a  differ- 
ent thing." 

"Oh,  time,  too,"  replied  his  lordship.  "I  have  never 
time  enough  to  do  anything  as  it  ought  to  be  done — always 
hurried — I  wish  you  could  recommend  to  me  a  lady  who 
would  take  the  trouble  off  my  hands." 

"It  might  be  done,"  said  John,  with  a  smile,  and  the 
image  of  Kate  Chatterton  crossed  his  brain,  but  it  was 
soon  succeeded  by  that  of  her  more  lovely  sister.  "  But 
how  do  you  manage  on  board  your  ship — hurried  there, 
too  ?" 

"  Oh  !  never  there,"  replied  the  captain,  gravely  ;  "  that's 
duty,  you  know,  and  everything  must  be  regular,  of 
course  ;  on  shore  it  is  a  different  thing — there  I  am  only 

a  passenger.  L has  a  charming  society,  Mr.  Mose- 

ley—  a  week  or  ten  days  ago  I  was  shooting,  and  came  to 
a  beautiful  cottage  about  five  miles  from  the  village,  that 
was  the  abode  of  a  much  more  beautiful  woman,  a  Span- 
iard, a  Mrs.  Fitzgerald — I  am  positively  in  love  with  her  ; 
so  soft,  so  polished,  so  modest  "- 

"  How  came  you  acquainted  with  her  ?"  inquired  Mose- 
ley,  interrupting  him  in  a  little  surprise. 

"  Chance,  my  dear  fellow,  chance.  I  was  thirsty  and 
approached  for  a  drink  of  water  ;  she  was  sitting  in  the 
veranda,  and  being  hurried  for  time,  you  know,  it  saved 
the  trouble  of  introduction.  I  fancy  she  is  troubled  with 
the  same  complaint,  for  she  managed  to  get  rid  of  me  in 
no  time,  and  with  a  great  deal  of  politeness.  I  found  out 
her  name,  however,  at  the  next  house." 

During  this  rattling  talk,  John  had  fixed  his  eyes  on  the 
face  of  one  of  the  passengers  who  sat  opposite  to  him. 
The  stranger  appeared  to  be  about  fifty  years  of  age, 
strongly  pock-marked,  with  a  stiff  military  air,  and  had 
the  dress  and  exterior  of  a  gentleman.  His  face  was  much 
sunburnt,  though  naturally  very  fair  ;  and  his  dark  keen 
eye  was  intently  fixed  on  the  sailor  as  he  continued  his 
remarks. 

'"  Do  you  know  such  a  lady,  Moseley  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  John,  "though  very  slightly  ;  she  is  visited 
by  one  of  my  sisters,  and  "- 

"Yourself,"  cried  Lord  Henry,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Myself,  once  or  twice,  my  lord,  certainly,"  answered 
John,  gravely  ;  "  but  a  lady  visited  by  Emily  Moseley  and 
Mrs.  Wilson  is  a  proper  companion  for  any  one.  Mrs. 
Fitzgerald  is  very  retired  in  her  manner  of  living,  and 


,36  PRECA  UTION. 

cnance  made  us  acquainted  ;  but  not  being,  like  your  lord- 
ship, in  want  of  time,  we  have  endeavored  to  cultivate  her 
society,  as  we  have  found  it  very  agreeable." 

The  countenance  of  the  stranger  underwent  several 
changes  during  this  speech  of  John's,  and  at  its  close  his 
eyes  rested  on  him  with  a  softer  expression  than  generally 
marked  its  rigid  and  compressed  muscles.  Willing  to 
change  a  discourse  that  was  growing  too  particular  for  a 
mail  coach,  John  addressed  himself  to  the  opposite  passen- 
gers, while  his  eye  yet  dwelt  on  the  face  of  the  military 
stranger. 

"We  are  likely  to  have  a  fine  day,  gentlemen."  The 
soldier  bowed  stiffly  as  he  smiled  his  assent,  and  the  other 
passenger  humbly  answered,  "Very,  Mr.  John,"  in  the 
well-known  tones  of  honest  Peter  Johnson.  Moseley 
started,  as  he  turned  his  face  for  the  first  time  on  the  lank 
figure  which  was  modestly  compressed  into  the  smallest 
possible  compass  in  the  corner  of  the  coach,  in  a  way  not 
to  come  in  contact  with  any  of  his  neighbors. 

"Johnson,"  exclaimed  John,  in  astonishment,  "you 
here  !  Where  are  you  going — to  London  ? " 

"To  London,  Mr.  John,"  replied  Peter,  with  a  look  of 
much  importance  ;  and  then,  by  way  of  silencing  further 
interrogatories,  he  added,  "  On  my  master's  business,  sir." 

Both  Moseley  and  Lord  Henry  examined  him  closely  ; 
the  former  wondering  what  could  take  the  steward,  at  the 
age  of  seventy,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  into  the  vortex 
of  the  capital  ;  and  the  latter  in  admiration  at  the  figure 
and  equipments  of  the  old  man.  Peter  was  in  full  cos- 
tume, with  the  exception  of  the  goggles,  and  was  in  reality 
a  subject  to  be  gazed  at ;  but  nothing  relaxed  the  muscles 
or  attracted  the  particular  notice  of  the  soldier,  who,  hav- 
ing regained  his  set  form  of  countenance,  appeared  drawn 
up  in  himself,  waiting  patiently  for  the  moment  he  was 
expected  to  act.  Nor  did  he  utter  more  than  as  many 
words  in  the  course  of  the  first  fifty  miles  of  their  journey. 
His  dialect  was  singular,  and  such  as  put  his  hearers  at  a 
loss  to  determine  his  country.  Lord  Henry  stared  at  him 
every  time  he  spoke,  as  if  to  say,  what  countryman  are 
you  ?  until  at  length  he  suggested  to  John  he  was  some 
officer  whom  the  downfall  of  Bonaparte  had  driven  into 
retirement. 

"  Indeed,  Moseley,"  he  added,  as  they  were  about  to  re- 
sume their  carriage  after  a  change^of  horses,  "we  must  draw 
him  out  and  see  what  he  thinks  of  his  master  now — deli« 


PRECA  UTION:  187 

cately,  you  know."  The  soldier  was,  however,  impervious 
to  his  lordship's  attacks,  until  the  project  was  finally  aban- 
doned in  despair.  As  Peter  was  much  too  modest  to  talk 
in  the  presence  of  Mr.  John  Moseley  and  a  lord,  the  young 
men  had  most  of  the  discourse  to  themselves.  At  a  vil- 
lage fifteen  miles  from  London,  a  fashionable  carriage  and 
four,  with  the  coronet  of  a  marquis,  was  in  waiting  for 
Lord  Henry.  John  refused  his  invitation  to  take  a  seat 
with  him  to  town  ;  for  he  had  traced  Denbigh  from  stage 
to  stage,  and  was  fearful  of  losing  sight  of  him.  unless  he 
persevered  in  the  manner  he  had  commenced.  Peter  and 
he  accordingly  were  put  down  safely  at  an  inn  in  the 
Strand,  and  Moseley  hastened  to  make  his  inquiries  after 
the  object  of  his  pursuit.  Such  a  chaise  had  arrived  an 
hour  before,  and  the  gentleman  had  ordered  his  trunk  to 
a  neighboring  hotel.  After  obtaining  the  address  and  or- 
dering a  hackney  coach,  he  hastened  to  the  house  ;  but 
inquiring  for  Mr.  Denbigh,  to  his  great  mortification  was 
told  they  knew  of  no  such  gentleman.  John  turned  away 
from  the  person  he  was  speaking  to  in  visible  disappoint- 
ment, when  a  servant  respectfully  inquired  if  the  gentle- 
man had  not  come  from  L ,  in  Norfolk,  that  day.  "  He 

had,"  was  the  reply.  "  Then  follow  me,  sir,  if  you  please." 
They  knocked  at  a  door  of  one  of  the  parlors,  and  the 
servant  entered  :  he  returned,  and  John  was  shown  into  a 
room,  where  Denbigh  was  sitting  with  his  head  resting 
on  his  hand,  and  apparently  musing.  On  seeing  who 
required  admittance,  he  sprang  from  his  seat  and  ex- 
claimed— 

"Mr.  Moseley  !     Do  I  see  aright  ?" 

"  Denbigh,"  cried  John,  stretching  out  his  hand  to  him, 
"  was  this  kind — was  it  like  yourself — to  leave  us  so  unex- 
pectedly, and  for  so  long  a  time,  too,  as  your  note  men- 
tioned?" 

Denbigh  waved  his  hand  to  the  servant  to  retire,  and 
handed  a  chair  to  his  friend. 

"  Mr.  Moseley,"  said  he,  struggling  with  his  feelings, 
"you  appear  ignorant  of  my  proposals  to  your  sister." 

"  Perfectly,"  answered  the  amazed  John. 

"And  her  rejection  of  them." 

"  Is  it  possible  ? "  cried  the  brother,  pacing  up  and 
down  the  room.  "  I  acknowledge  I  did  expect  you  to 
offer,  but  not  to  be  refused." 

Denbigh  placed  in  the  other's  hand  the  letter  of  Emily, 
which,  -having  read,  John  returned  with  a  sigh.  "This, 


i88  PRECA  UTION". 

then,  is  the  reason  you  left  us,"  he  continued.  "  Emily  it 
not  capricious — it  cannot  be  a  sudden  pique — she  means 
as  she  says." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Moseley,"  said  Denbigh,  mournfully  ;  "your 
sister  is  faultless — but  I  am  not  worthy  of  her — my  de- 
ception " — here  the  door  again  opened  to  the  admission 
of  Peter  Johnson.  Both  the  gentlemen  rose  at  this  sud- 
den interruption,  and  the  steward  advancing  to  the  table, 
once  more  produced  the  formidable  pocket-book,  the 
spectacles,  and  a  letter.  He  ran  over  its  direction — "For 
George  Denbigh,  Esquire,  London,  by  the  hands  of  Peter 
Johnson,  with  care  and  speed."  After  the  observance  of 
these  preliminaries,  he  delivered  the  missive  to  its  lawful 
owner,  who  opened  it,  and  rapidly  perused  its  contents. 
Denbigh  was  much  affected  with  whatever  the  latter 
might  be,  and  kindly  took  the  steward  by  the  hand,  as  he 
thanked  him  for  this  renewed  instance  of  the  interest  he 
took  in  him.  If  he  would  tell  him  where  a  letter  would 
find  him  in  the  morning,  he  would  send  a  reply  to  the  one 
he  had  received.  Peter  gave  his  address,  but  appeared 
unwilling  to  go,  until  assured  again  and  again  that  the 
answer  would  be  infallibly  sent.  Taking  a  small  account- 
book  out  of  his  pocket,  and  referring  to  its  contents,  the 
steward  said,  "  Master  has  with  Coutts  &  Co.  ^£7,000  ;  in 
the  bank  ^5,000.  It  can  be  easily  done,  sir,  and  never 
felt  by  us."  Denbigh  smiled  in  reply,  as  he  assured  the 
steward  he  would  take  proper  notice  of  his  master's  offers 
in  his  own  answer.  The  door  again  opened,  and  the  mili- 
tary stranger  was  admitted  to  their  presence.  He  bowed, 
appeared  not  a  little  surprised  to  find  two  of  his  mail- 
coach  companions  there,  and  handed  Denbigh  a  letter,  in 
quite  as  formal  although  in  a  more  silent  manner  than 
the  steward.  The  soldier  was  invited  to  be  seated,  and 
the  letter  was  perused  with  an  evident  curiosity  on  the 
part  of  Denbigh.  As  soon  as  the  latter  ended  it,  he  ad- 
dressed the  stranger  in  a  language  which  John  rightly 
judged  to  be  Spanish,  and  Peter  took  it  to  be  Greek.  For 
a  few  minutes  the  conversation  was  maintained  between 
them  with  great  earnestness,  his  fellow-travellers  marvel- 
ling much  at  the  garrulity  of  the  soldier  ;  however,  the 
stranger  soon  rose  to  retire,  when  the  door  was  thrown 
open  for  the  fourth  time,  and  a  voice  cried  out, 

"  Here  I  am,  George,  safe  and  sound — ready  to  kiss  the 
bridesmaids,  if  they  will  let  me — and  I  can  find  time — bless 
me,  Moseley ! — old  marling-spike ! — general ! — whew,  where 


PRECAUTION.  183 

is  the  coachman  and  guard  ?  "  It  was  Lord  Henry  Staple- 
ton.  The  Spaniard  bowed  again  in  silence,  and  withdrew, 
while  Denbigh  threw  open  the  door  of  an  adjoining  room 
and  excused  himself,  as  he  desired  Lord  Henry  to  walk  in 
there  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  cried  the  heedless  sailor,  as  he  com- 
plied, "we  might  as  well  have  stuck  together,  Moseley; 
we  were  bound  to  one  port,  it  seems." 

"  You  know  Lord  Henry  ? "  said  John,  as  he  withdrew. 

"  Yes,"  said  Denbigh,  and  he  again  required  his  address 
of  Peter,  which  having  been  given,  the  steward  departed. 
The  conversation  between  the  two  friends  did  not  return 
to  the  course  it  was  taking  when  they  were  interrupted,  as 
Moseley  felt  a  delicacy  in  making  any  allusion  to  the 
probable  cause  of  his  sister's  refusal.  He  had,  however, 
begun  to  hope  it  was  not  irremovable,  and  with  the  deter- 
mination of  renewing  his  visit  in  the  morning,  he  took  his 
leave,  to  allow  Denbigh  to  attend  to  his  other  guest,  Lord 
Henry  Stapleton. 

About  twelve  on  the  following  morning,  John  and  the 
steward  met  at  the  door  of  the  hotel  where  Denbigh  lodged, 
in  quest  of  the  same  person.  The  latter  held  in  his  hand 
the  answer  to  his  master's  letter,  but  wished  particularly 
to  see  its  writer.  On  inquiring,  to  their  mutual  surprise 
they  were  told  that  the  gentleman  had  left  there  early  in 
the  morning,  having  discharged  his  lodgings,  and  that  they 
were  unable  to  say  whither  he  had  gone.  To  hunt  for  a 
man  without  a  clew,  in  the  city  of  London,  is  usually  time 
misspent.  Of  this  Moseley  was  perfectly  sensible,  and 
disregarding  a  proposition  of  Peter's,  he  returned  to  his 
own  lodgings.  The  proposal  of  the  steward,  if  it  did  not 
do  much  credit  to  his  sagacity,  was  much  in  favor  of  his 
perseverance  and  enterprise.  It  was  no  other  than  that 
John  should  take  one  side  of  the  street  and  he  the  other, 
in  order  to  inquire  at  every  house  in  the  place,  until  the 
fugitive  was  discovered.  "  Sir,"  said  Peter,  with  great 
simplicity,  "  when  our  neighbor  White  lost  his  little  girl, 
this  was  the  way  we  found  her,  although  we  went  nearly 

through  L before  we  succeeded,  Mr.  John."  Peter 

was  obliged  to  abandon  this  expedient  for  want  of  an 
associate,  and  as  no  message  was  left  at  the  lodgings  of 
Moseley,  he  started  with  a  heavy  heart  on  his  return  to 
Benfield  Lodge.  But  Moseley's  zeal  was  too  warm  in  the 
cause  of  his  friend,  notwithstanding  his  unmerited  deser- 
tion, to  discontinue  the  search  for  hjrn.  He  sought  out 


i  go  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

the  town  residence  of  the  Marquis  of  Eltririgham,  trie 
brother  of  Lord  Henry,  and  was  told  that  both  the  marquis 
and  his  brother  had  left  town  early  that  morning  for  his 
seat  in  Devonshire,  to  attend  the  wedding  of  their  sister. 

"  Did  they  go  alone  ?  "  asked  John,  musing. 

"  There  were  two  chaises,  the  marquis's  and  his  grace's.'1 

"  Who  was  his  grace  ?"  inquired  John. 

"Why  the  Duke  of  Derwent,  to  be  sure." 

"  And  the  duke — was  he  alone  ? " 

"  There  was  a  gentleman  with  his  grace,  but  they  did  not 
know  his  name." 

As  nothing  further  could  be  learned,  John  withdrew. 
A  good  deal  of  irritation  mixed  with  the  vexation  of  Mose- 
ley  at  his  disappointment ;  for  Denbigh,  he  thought,  too 
evidently  wished  to  avoid  him.  That  he  was  the  com- 
panion of  his  kinsman,  the  Duke  of  Derwent,  he  had  now 
no  doubt,  and  he  entirely  relinquished  all  expectations  of 
finding  him  in  London  or  its  environs.  While  retracing 
his  steps,  in  no  enviable  state  of  mind,  to  his  lodgings, 

with  a  resolution  of  returning  immediately  to  L ,  his 

arm  was  suddenly  taken  by  his  friend  Chatterton.  If  any 
man  could  have  consoled  John  at  that  moment,  it  was  the 
baron.  Questions  and  answers  were  rapidly  exchanged 
between  them  ;  and  with  increased  satisfaction,  John 
learned  that  in  the  next  square  he  could  have  the  pleasure 
of  paying  his  respects  to  his  kinswoman,  the  Dowager 
Lady  Chatterton,  and  her  two  daughters.  Chatterton 
inquired  warmly  after  Emily,  and  in  a  particularly  kind 
manner  concerning  Mr.  Denbigh,  hearing  with  undisguised 
astonishment  the  absence  of  the  latter  from  the  Moseley 
family. 

Lady  Chatterton  had  disciplined  her  feelings  upon  the 
subject  of  Grace  and  John  into  such  a  state  of  subordina- 
tion, that  the  fastidious  jealousy  of  the  young  man  now 
found  no  ground  of  alarm  in  anything  she  said  or  did.  It 
cannot  be  denied  the  dowager  was  delighted  to  see  him 
again  ;  and,  if  it  were  fair  to  draw  any  conclusions  from 
colorings,  palpitations,  and  other  such  little  accompani- 
ments of  female  feeling,  Grace  was  not  excessively  sorry. 
It  is  true,  it  was  the  best  possible  opportunity  to  ascertain 
all  about  her  friend  Emily  and  the  rest  of  the  family  ;  and 
Grace  was  extremely  happy  to  have  intelligence  of  their 
general  welfare  so  direct  as  was  afforded  by  this  visit  of 
Mr.  Moseley.  Grace  looked  all  she  expressed,  and  possibly 
a  little  more  ;  and  John  thought  she  looked  very  beautiful. 


PRECA  UTION.  191 

There  was  present  an  elderly  gentleman,  of  apparently 
indifferent  health,  although  his  manners  were  extremely 
lively,  and  his  dress  particularly  studied.  A  few  minutes' 
observation  convinced  Moseley  this  gentleman  was  a  can- 
didate for  the  favor  of  Kate  ;  and  a  game  of  chess  being 
soon  introduced,  he  also  saw  he  was  one  thought  worthy 
of  peculiar  care  and  attention.  He  had  been  introduced 
to  him  as  Lord  Herriefield,  arid  soon  discovered  by  his 
conversation  that  he  was  a  peer  who  promised  little  toward 
rendering  the  house  of  incurables  more  convalescent  than 
it  was  before  his  admission.  Chatterton  mentioned  him  as 
a  distant  connection  of  his  mother  ;  a  gentleman  who  had 
lately  returned  from  filling  an  official  situation  in  the  East 
Indies,  to  take  his  seat  among  the  lords  by  the  death  of 
his  brother.  He  was  a  bachelor,  and  reputed  rich,  much 
of  his  wealth  being  personal  property,  acquired  by  himself 
abroad.  The  dutiful  son  might  have  added,  if  respect  and 
feeling  had  not  kept  him  silent,  that  his  offers  of  settling 
a  large  jointure  upon  his  elder  sister  had  been  accepted, 
and  that  the  following  week  was  to  make  her  the  bride  of 
the  emaciated  debauchee  who  now  sat  by  her  side.  He 
might  also  have  said  that  when  the  proposition  was  made 
to  himself  and  Grace,  both  had  shrunk  from  the  alliance 
with  disgust ;  and  that  both  had  united  in  humble  though 
vain  remonstrances  to  their  mother  against  the  sacrifice, 
and  in  petitions  to  their  sister  that  she  would  not  be  acces- 
sory to  her  own  misery.  There  was  no  pecuniary  sacrifice 
they  would  not  make  to  her,  to  avert  such  a  connection  ; 
but  all  was  fruitless — Kate  was  resolved  to  be  a  viscount- 
ess, and  her  mother  was  equally  determined  that  she  should 
be  rich. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

A  DAY  elapsed  between  the  departure  of  Denbigh  and 
the  reappearance  of  Emily  among  her  friends.  An  indif- 
ferent observer  would  have  thought  her  much  graver  and 
less  animated  than  usual.  A  loss  of  the  rich  color  which 
ordinarily  glowed  on  her  healthful  cheek,  might  be  no- 
ticed  ;  but  the  placid  sweetness  and  graceful  composure 
which  regulated  her  former  conduct  pervaded  all  she  did 
or  uttered.  Not  so  with  Jane  ;  her  pride  had  suffered 
more  than  her  feelings — her  imagination  had  been  more 
deceived  than  her  judgment — and  although  too  well  bred 


192  PR  EC  A  f/TfOJV. 

and  soft  by  nature  to  become  rude  or  captious,  she  was 
changed  from  a  communicative  to  a  reserved,  from  a  con- 
fiding to  a  suspicious  companion.  Her 'parents  noticed 
this  alteration  with  an  uneasiness  that  was  somewhat  em- 
bittered by  the  consciousness  of  a  neglect  of  some  of  those 
duties  that  experience  now  seemed  to  indicate,  could  never 
be  forgotten  with  impunity. 

Francis  and  Clara  had  ^arrived  from  their  northern  tour, 
so  happy  in  each  other,  and  so  contented  with  their  lot, 
that  it  required  some  little  exercise  of  fortitude  in  both 
Lady  Moseley  and  her  daughters,  to  expel  unpleasant  rec- 
ollections while  they  contemplated  it.  Their  relation  of 
the  little  incidents  of  their  tour  had,  however,  an  effect  to 
withdraw  the  attention  of  their  friends  in  some  degree  from 
late  occurrences  ;  and  a  melancholy  and  sympathizing 
kind  of  association  had  taken  place  of  the  unbounded  con- 
fidence and  gayety,  which  so  lately  prevailed  at  Benfield 
Lodge.  Mr.  Benfield  mingled  with  his  solemnity  an  air  of 
mystery,  and  he  was  frequently  noticed  by  his  relatives 
looking  over  old  papers,  and  was  apparently  employed  in 
preparations  that  indicated  movements  of  more  than  usual 
importance. 

The  family  were  collected  in  one  of  the  parlors  on  an 
extremely  unpleasant  day,  the  fourth  after  the  departure 
of  John,  when  the  thin  person  of  Johnson  stalked  in  among 
them.  All  eyes  were  fixed  on  him  in  expectation  of  what 
he  had  to  communicate,  and  all  apparently  dreading  to 
break  the  silence,  from  an  apprehension  that  his  commu- 
nication would  be  unpleasant.  In  the  meantime  Peter, 
who  had  respectfully  left  his  hat  at  the  door,  proceeded  to 
uncase  his  body  from  the  multiplied  defences  he  had  taken 
against  the  inclemency  of  the  weather.  His  master  stood 
erect  with  an  outstretched  hand,  ready  to  receive  the  reply 
to  his  epistle  ;  and  Johnson  having  liberated  his  body  from 
thraldom,  produced  the  black  leathern  pocket-book,  and 
from  its  contents  a  letter,  when  he  read  aloud — Roderic 
Benfield,  Esq.,  Benfield  Lodge,  Norfolk  ;  favored  by  Mr. 
Here  Peter's  modesty  got  the  better  of  his  method. 
He  had  never  been  called  Mr.  Johnson  by  anybody,  old  or 
young  ;  all  knew  him  in  that  neighborhood  as  Peter  John- 
son— and  he  had  very  nearly  been  guilty  of  the  temerity  of 
arrogating  to  himself  another  title,  in  the  presence  of  those 
he  most  respected  ;  a  degree  of  self-elevation  from  which 
he  escaped  with  the  loss  of  a  small  piece  of  his  tongue. 
Mr.  Benfield  took  the  letter  with  an  eagerness  that  plainly 


PRECA  UTION.  193 

indicated  the  deep  interest  he  took  in  its  contents,  while 
Emily,  with  a  tremulous  voice  and  flushed  cheek,  ap- 
proached the  steward  with  a  glass  of  wine. 

"  Peter,"  she  said,  "take  this  ;  it  will  do  you  good." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Emma,"  said  Peter,  casting  his  eyes 
from  her  to  his  master,  as  the  latter,  having  finished  his 
letter,  exclaimed,  with  a  strange  mixture  of  consideration 
and  disappointment — 

"  Johnson,  you  must  change  your  clothes  immediately, 
or  you  will  take  cold  :  you  look  now  like  old  Moses,  the 
Jew  beggar." 

Peter  sighed  heavily  at  this  comparison,  and  saw  in  it  a 
confirmation  of  his  fears  ;  for  he  well  knew,  that  to  his 
being  the  bearer  of  unpleasant  tidings  was  he  indebted  for 
a  resemblance  to  anything  unpleasant  to  his  master,  and 
Moses  was  the  old  gentleman's  aversion. 

The  baronet  now  followed  his  uncle  from  the  room  to 
his  library,  entering  it  at  the  same  moment  with  the  stew- 
ard, who  had  been  summoned  by  his  master  to  an  audi- 
ence. 

Pointing  to  a  chair  for  his  nephew,  Mr.  Benfield  com- 
menced the  discourse  with  saying, 

"  Peter,  you  saw  Mr.  Denbigh  ;  how  did  he  look  ?" 

"  As  usual,  master,"  said  Peter,  laconically,  still  piqued 
at  being  likened  to  old  Moses. 

"  And  what  did  he  say  to  the  offer  ?  Did  he  not  make 
any  comments  on  it  ?  He  was  not  offended  at  it,  I  hope  ?" 
demanded  Mr.  Benfield. 

"  He  said  nothing  but  what  he  has  written  to  your 
honor,"  replied  the  steward,  losing  a  little  of  his  con- 
strained manner  in  real  good  feeling  to  his  master. 

"  May  I  ask  what  the  offer  was  ? "  inquired  Sir  Edward. 

Mr.  Benfield  regarding  him  a  moment  in  silence,  said, 
"  Certainly,  yo1*  ire  nearly  concerned  in  his  welfare  ;  your 
daughter" — the  old  man  stopped,  turned  to  his  letter- 
book,  and  handed  the  baronet  a  copy  of  the  epistle  he 
had  sent  to  Denbigh.  It  read  as  follows  : 

"  DEAR  FRIEND,  MR.  DENBIGH, 

"  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  on  the  reason  of  your  sud- 
den departure  from  a  house  I  had  begun  to  hope  you 
thought  your  own  ;  and  by  calling  to  mind  my  own  feel- 
ings when  Lady  Juliana  became  the  heiress  to  her  nephew's 
estate,  take  it  for  granted  you  have  been  governed  by  the 
same  sentiments  ;  which  I  know  both  by  my  own  experi- 


I94  PRECA  UTION. 

ence  and  that  of  the  bearer,  Peter  Johnson,  is  a  never- 
failing  accompaniment  of  pure  affection.  Yes,  my  dear 
Denbigh,  I  honor  your  delicacy  in  not  wishing  to  become 
indebted  to  a  stranger,  as  it  were,  for  the  money  on  which 
you  subsist,  and  that  stranger  your  wife — who  ought  in 
reason  to  look  up  to  you,  instead  of  you  looking  up  to 
her  ;  which  was  the  true  cause  Lord  Gosford  would  not 
marry  the  countess — on  account  of  her  great  wealth,  as  he 
assured  me  himself  ;  notwithstanding  envious  people  said 
it  was  because  her  ladyship  loved  Mr.  Chaworth  better  : 
so  in  order  to  remove  these  impediments  of  delicacy, 
I  have  to  make  three  propositions,  namely,  that  I  bring 
you  into  Parliament  the  next  election  for  my  own  bor- 
ough— that  you  take  possession  of  the  lodge  the  day  you 
marry  Emmy,  while  I  will  live,  for  the  little  time  I  have  to 
stay  here,  in  the  large  cottage  built  by  my  uncle — and  that 
I  give  you  your  legacy  of  ten  thousand  pounds  down,  to 
prevent  trouble  hereafter. 

"  As  I  know  nothing  but  delicacy  has  driven  you  away 
from  us,  I  make  no  doubt  you  will  now  find  all  objections 
removed,  and  that  Peter  will  bring  back  the  joyful  intelli- 
gence of  your  return  to  us,  as  soon  as  the  business  you  left 
us  on  is  completed. 

"  Your  uncle,  that  is  to  be, 

"  RODERIC  BENFIELD." 

"  N.  B.  As  Johnson  is  a  stranger  to  the  ways  of  the 
town,  I  wish  you  to  advise  his  inexperience,  particularly 
against  the  arts  of  designing  women,  Peter  being  a  man  of 
considerable  estate,  and  great  modesty." 

"There,  nephew,"  cried  Mr.  Benfield,  as  the  baronet 
finished  reading  the  letter  aloud,  "  is  it  not  unreasonable 
to  refuse  my  offers  ?  Now  read  his  answer." 

"Words  are  wanting  to  express  the  sensations  which 
Kave  been  excited  by  Mr.  Benfield's  letter  ;  but  it  would 
be  impossible  for  any  man  to  be  so  base  as  to  avail  himself 
of  such  liberality  :  the  recollection  of  it,  together  with  that 
of  his  many  virtues,  will  long  continue  deeply  impressed 
on  the  heart  of  him  whom  Mr.  Benfield  would,  if  within 
the  power  of  man,  render  the  happiest  among  human 
beings." 

The  steward  listened  eagerly  to  this  answer,  but  after  it 


PRECA  UTION.  19$ 

was  done  he  was  as  much  at  a  loss  to  know  its  contents  as 
before  its  perusal.  He  knew  it  was  unfavorable  to  their 
wishes,  but  could  not  comprehend  its  meaning  or  expres- 
sions, and  immediately  attributed  their  ambiguity  to  the 
strange  conference  he  had  witnessed  between  Denbigh  and 
the  military  stranger. 

"  Master,"  exclaimed  Peter,  with  something  of  the  elation 
of  a  discoverer,  "  I  know  the  cause,  it  shows  itself  in  the 
letter  :  there  was  a  man  talking  Greek  to  him  while  he 
was  reading  your  letter." 

'"  Greek  !"  exclaimed  Sir  Edward  in  astonishment. 

"  Greek  !  "  said  the  uncle.  "  Lord  Gosford  read  Greek  ; 
but  I  believe  never  conversed  in  that  language." 

"  Yes,  Sir  Edward — yes,  your  honor — pure  wild  Greek  ; 
it  must  have  been  something  of  that  kind,"  added  Peter, 
with  positiveness,  "  that  would  make  a  man  refuse  such 
offers  —  Miss  Emmy — the  lodge  —  ^10,000!" — and  the 
steward  shook  his  head  with  much  satisfaction  at  having 
discovered  the  cause. 

Sir  Edward  smiled  at  the  simplicity  of  Johnson,  but  dis- 
liking the  idea  attached  to  the  refusal  of  his  daughter, 
said, 

"  Perhaps,  after  all,  uncle,  there  has  been  some  misun- 
derstanding between  Emily  and  Denbigh,  which  may  have 
driven  him  from  us  so  suddenly." 

Mr.  Benfield  and  his  steward  exchanged  looks,  and  a 
new  idea  broke  upon  them  at  the  instant.  They  had  both 
suffered  in  that  way  ;  and  after  all  it  might  prove  that 
Emily  was  the  one  whose  taste  or  feelings  had  subverted 
their  schemes.  The  impression,  once  made,  soon  became 
strong,  and  the  party  separated  ;  the  master  thinking  al- 
ternately on  Lady  Juliana  and  his  niece,  while  the  man, 
after  heaving  one  heavy  sigh  to  the  memory  of  Patty  Steele, 
proceeded  to  the  usual  occupations  of  his  office. 

Mrs.  Wilson  thinking  a  ride  would  be  of  service  to  Emily, 
and  having  the  fullest  confidence  in  her  self-command  and 
resignation,  availed  herself  of  a  fine  day  to  pay  a  visit  to 
their  friend  in  the  cottage.  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  received  them 
in  her  usual  manner,  but  a  single  glance  of  her  eye  suf- 
ficed to  show  the  aunt  that  she  noticed  the  altered  appear- 
ance of  Emily  and  her  manners,  although  without  knowing 
its  true  reason,  which  she  did  not  deem  it  prudent  to  ex- 
plain. Julia  handed  her  friend  a  note  which  she  said  she 
had  received  the  day  before,  and  desired  their  counsel  how 
to  proceed  in  the  present  emergency.  As  Emily  was  to  be 


196  PRECAUTION". 

made  acquainted  with  its  contents,  her  aunt  read  it  aloud 
as  follows  : 

"Mv  DEAR  NIECE, 

"  Your  father  and  myself  had  been  induced  to  think  you 
were  leading  a  disgraceful  life,  with  the  officer  your  hus- 
band had  consigned  you  to  the  care  of ;  for  hearing  of 
your  captivity,  I  had  arrived  with  a  band  of  Guerillas,  on 
the  spot  where  you  were  rescued,  early  the  next  morning, 
and  there  learned  of  the  peasants  your  misfortunes  and  re- 
treat. The  enemy  pressed  us  too  much  to  allow  us  to  de- 
viate from  our  route  at  the  time  ;  but  natural  affection  and 
the  wishes  of  your  father  have  led  me  to  make  a  journey 
to  England,  in  order  to  satisfy  our  doubts  as  regards  your 
conduct.  I  have  seen  you,  heard  your  character  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  after  much  and  long  search  have  found 
out  the  officer,  and  am  satisfied,  that  so  far  as  concerns 
your  deportment,  you  are  an  injured  woman.  I  have 
therefore  to  propose  to  you,  on  my  own  behalf,  and  that 
of  the  conde,  that  you  adopt  the  faith  of  your  country,  and 
return  with  me  to  the  arms  of  your  parent,  whose  heiress 
you  will  be,  and  whose  life  you  may  be  the  means  of  pro- 
longing. Direct  your  answer  to  me,  to  the  care  of  our 
ambassador ;  and  as  you  decide,  I  am  your  mother's 
brother,  Louis  M'CARTHY  y  HARRISON." 

"  On  what  point  do  you  wish  my  advice,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
son, kindly,  after  she  had  finished  reading  the  letter,  "and 
when  do  you  expect  to  see  your  uncle  ? " 

"Would  you  have  me  accept  the  offer  of  my  father,  dear 
madam,  or  am  I  to  remain  separated  from  him  for  the 
short  residue  of  his  life  ? " 

Mrs.  Fitzgerald  was  affected  to  tears,  as  she  asked  this 
question,  and  waited  her  answer,  in  silent  dread  of  its 
nature. 

"  Is  the  condition  of  a  change  of  religion  an  immovable 
one  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Wilson,  in  a  thoughtful  manner. 

"  O  !  doubtless,"  replied  Julia,  shuddering  ;  "  but  I  am 
deservedly  punished  for  my  early  disobedience,  and  bow 
in  submission  to  the  will  of  Providence.  I  feel  now  all 
that  horror  of  a  change  of  my  religion,  I  once  only 
affected  ;  I  must  live  and  die  a  Protestant,  madam." 

"Certainly,  I  hope  so,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson  ;  "  I 
am  not  a  bigot,  and  think  it  unfortunate  you  were  not,  in 
your  circumstances,  bred  a  pious  Catholic.  It  would  have 


PRECA  UTION.  197 

saved  you  much  misery,  and  might  have  rendered  the  close 
of  your  father's  life  more  happy  ;  but  as  your  present 
creed  embraces  doctrines  too  much  at  variance  with  the 
Romish  church  to  renounce  the  one  or  to  adopt  the  other, 
with  your  views,  it  will  be  impossible  to  change  your 
church  without  committing  a  heavy  offence  against  the 
opinions  and  practices  of  every  denomination  of  Chris- 
tians. I  should  hope  a  proper  representation  of  this  to 
your  uncle  would  have  its  weight,  or  they  might  be  satisfied 
with  your  being  a  Christian,  without  becoming  a  Catholic," 

"Ah!  my  dear  madam,"  answered  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  de- 
spairingly, "you  little  know  the  opinions  of  my  country- 
men on  this  subject." 

"Surely,  surely,"  cried  Mrs.  Wilson,  "parental  affection 
is  a  stronger  feeling  than  bigotry." 

Mrs.  Fitzgerald  shook  her  head  in  a  manner  which  be- 
spoke both  her  apprehensions  and  her  filial  regard. 

"Julia  ought  not,  must  not  desert  her  father,  dear 
aunt,"  said  Emily,  her  face  glowing  with  the  ardency  of 
her  feelings. 

"And  ought  she  to  desert  her  heavenly  Father,  my 
child?"  asked  the  aunt,  mildly. 

"Are  the  duties  conflicting,  dearest  aunt?" 

"The  conde  makes  them  so.  Julia  is,  I  trust,  in  sin- 
cerity a  Christian,  and  with  what  face  can  she  offer  up  her 
daily  petitions  to  her  Creator,  while  she  wears  a  mask  to 
her  earthly  father  ;  or  how  can  she  profess  to  honor  doc- 
trines that  she  herself  believes  to  be  false,  or  practise  cus- 
toms she  thinks  improper  ?" 

"  Never,  never,"  exclaimed  Julia,  with  fervor ;  "  the 
struggle  is  dreadful,  but  I  submit  to  the  greater  duty." 

"And  you  decide  rightly,  my  friend,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson, 
soothingly  ;  "  but  you  need  relax  no  efforts  to  convince 
the  conde  of  your  wishes  :  truth  and  nature  will  finally 
conquer." 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  "  the  sad  consequences  of 
one  false  step  in  early  life  ! " 

"  Rather,"  added  Mrs.  Wilson,  "  the  sad  consequences  of 
one  false  step  in  generations  gone  by.  Had  your  grand- 
mother listened  to  the  voice  of  prudence  and  duty,  she 
never  would  have  deserted  her  parents  for  a  comparative 
stranger,  and  entailed  upon  her  descendants  a  train  of  evils 
which  yet  exist  in  your  person." 

"  It  will  be  a  sad  blow  to  my  poor  uncle,  too,"  said  Mrs. 
Fitzgerald,  "  he  who  once  loved  me  so  much." 


198  PRECA  UTION. 

"  When  do  you  expect  to  see  him  ?"  inquired  Emily. 

Julia  informed  them  she  expected  him  hourly  ;  as,  fear, 
ful  a  written  statement  of  her  views  would  drive  him 
from  the  country  without  paying  her  a  visit  before  he  de- 
parted, she  had  earnestly  entreated  him  to  see  her  without 
delay. 

On  taking  their  leave,  the  ladies  promised  to  obey  her 
summons  whenever  called  to  meet  the  general,  as  'Mrs. 
Wilson  thought  she  might  be  better  able  to  give  advice 
to  a  friend,  by  knowing  more  of  the  character  of  her  rela- 
tives, than  she  could  do  with  her  present  information. 

One  day  intervened,  and  it  was  spent  in  the  united 
society  of  Lady  Moseley  and  her  daughters,  while  Sir  Ed- 
ward and  Francis  rode  to  a  neighboring  town  on  business  ; 
and  on  the  succeeding,  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  apprised  them  of 
the  arrival  of  General  M'Carthy. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  Mrs.  Wilson  and  Emily 
drove  to  the  cottage,  the  aunt  both  wishing  the  latter  as  a 
companion  in  her  ride,  and  believing  the  excitement  would 
have  a  tendency  to  prevent  her  niece  from  indulging  in  re- 
flections, alike  dangerous  to  her  peace  of  mind  and  at 
variance  with  her  duties. 

Our  readers  have  probably  anticipated,  that  the  stage 
companion  of  John  Moseley  was  the  Spanish  general,  who 
had  just  been  making  those  inquiries  into  the  manner  of 
his  niece's  living  which  terminated  so  happily  in  her  ac- 
quittal. With  that  part  of  his  history  which  relates  to  the 
injurious  attempts  on  her  before  she  arrived  at  Lisbon,  he 
appears  to  have  been  ignorant,  or  his  interview  with  Den- 
bigh might  have  terminated  very  differently  from  the  man- 
ner already  related. 

A  description  of  the  appearance  of  the  gentleman  pre- 
sented to  Mrs.  Wilson  is  unnecessary,  as  it  has  been  given 
already ;  and  the  discerning  matron  thought  she  read 
through  the  rigid  and  set  features  of  the  soldier  a  shade 
of  kinder  feelings  which  might  be  wrought  into  an  advan* 
tageous  intercession  on  behalf  of  Julia.  The  general  was 
evidently  endeavoring  to  keep  his  feelings  within  due 
bounds,  before  the  decision  of  his  niece  might  render  it 
proper  for  him  to  indulge  in  that  affection  for  her,  which 
his  eye  plainly  showed  existed  under  the  cover  of  his  as- 
sumed manner. 

It  was  an  effort  of  great  fortitude  on  the  part  of  Julia  to 
acquaint  her  uncle  with  her  resolution  ;  but  as  it  must  be 
done,  she  seized  a  moment  after  Mrs.  Wilson  had  at  some 


PRECAUTION'.  199 

length  defended  her  adhering  to  her  present  faith,  until 
religiously  impressed  with  its  errors,  to  inform  him  such 
was  her  unalterable  resolution.  He  heard  her  patiently, 
and. without  anger,  but  in  visible  surprise.  He  had  con- 
strued her  summons  to  her  house  into  a  measure  prepara- 
tory to  accepting  his  conditions  ;  yet  he  betrayed  no  emo- 
tion, after  the  first  expression  of  his  wonder  :  he  told  her 
distinctly,  a  renunciation  of  her  heresy  was  the  only  con- 
dition on  which  her  father  would  own  her  either  as  his  heir- 
ess or  his  child.  Julia  deeply  regretted  the  decision,  but 
was  firm  ;  and  her  friends  left  her  to  enjoy  uninterruptedly 
for  one  day,  the  society  of  so  near  a  relative.  During  this 
day  every  doubt  as  to  the  propriety  of  her  conduct,  if  any 
yet  remained,  was  removed  by  a  relation  of  her  little  story 
to  her  uncle  ;  and  after  it  was  completed,  he  expressed 
great  uneasiness  to  get  to  London  again,  in  order  to  meet 
a  gentleman  he  had  seen  there,  under  a  different  impres- 
sion as  to  his  merits,  than  what  now  appeared  to  be  just. 
Who  the  gentleman  was,  or  what  these  impressions  were, 
Julia  was  left  to  conjecture,  taciturnity  being  ta  favorite 
property  in  the  general. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

THE  sun  had  just  risen  on  one  of  the  loveliest  vales  of 
Caernarvonshire,  as  a  travelling  chaise  and  six  swept  up 
to  the  door  of  a  princely  mansion,  so  situated  as  to  com- 
mand a  prospect  of  the  fertile  and  extensive  domains,  the 
rental  of  which  filled  the  coffers  of  its  rich  owner,  having 
a  beautiful  view  of  the  Irish  Channel  in  the  distance. 

Everything  around  this  stately  edifice  bespoke  the  mag- 
nificence of  its  ancient  possessors  and  the  taste  of  its 
present  master.  It  was  irregular,  but  built  of  the  best 
materials,  and  in  the  tastes  of  the  different  ages  in  which 
its  various  parts  had  been  erected  ;  and  now  in  the  nine- 
teenth century  it  preserved  the  baronial  grandeur  of  the 
thirteenth,  mingled  with  the  comforts  of  this  later  period. 

The  lofty  turrets  of  its  towers  were  tipped  with  the 
golden  light  of  the  sun,  and  the  neighboring  peasantry 
had  commenced  their  daily  labors,  as  the  different  attend- 
ants of  the  equipage  we  have  mentioned  collected  around 
it  at  the  great  entrance  to  the  building.  The  beautiful 
black  horses,  with  coats  as  shining  as  the  polished  leather 


200  PR  EC  A  UTiON. 

with  which  they  were  caparisoned,  the  elegant  and  fashion- 
able finish  of  the  vehicle,  with  its  numerous  grooms,  pos- 
tilions, and  footmen,  all  wearing  the  livery  of  one  master, 
gave  evidence  of  wealth  and  rank. 

In  attendance  there  were  four  outriders, walking  leisure!} 
about,  awaiting  the  appearance  of  those  for  whose  com 
forts  and  pleasures  they  were  kept,  to  contribute  ;  while  n 
fifth,  who,  like  the  others,  was  equipped  with  a  horse, 
appeared  to  bear  a  doubtful  station.  The  form  of  the 
latter  was  athletic,^ and  apparently  drilled  into  a  severer 
submission  than  could  be  seen  in  the  movements  of  the 
liveried  attendants  :  his  dress  was  peculiar,  being  neither 
quite  menial  nor  quite  military,  but  partaking  of  both 
characters.  His  horse  was  heavier  and  better  managed 
than  those  of  the  others,  and  by  its  side  was  a  charger, 
that  \vas  prepared  for  the  use  of  no  common  equestrian. 
Both  were  coal-black,  as  were  all  the  others  of  the  caval- 
cade ;  but  the  pistols  of  the  two  latter,  and  housings  of 
their  saddles,  bore  the  aspect  of  use  and  elegance  united. 

The  postilions  were  mounted,  listlessly  waiting  the  pleas- 
ure of  their  superiors ;  when  the  laughs  and  jokes  of  the 
menials  were  instantly  succeeded  by  a  respectful  and  pro- 
found silence,  as  a  gentleman  and  lady  appeared  on  the 
portico  of  the  building.  The  former  was  a  young  man  of 
commanding  stature  and  genteel  appearance  ;  and  his  air, 
although  that  of  one  used  to  command,  was  softened  by  a 
character  of  benevolence  and  gentleness,  that  might  be 
rightly  supposed  to  give  birth  to  the  willing  alacrity  with 
which  all  his  requests  or  orders  were  attended  to. 

The  lady  was  also  young,  and  resembled  her  companion 
both  in  features  and  expression,  for  both  were  noble,  both 
were  handsome.  The  former  was  attired  for  the  road  ;  the 
latter  had  thrown  a  shawl  around  her  elegant  form,  and 
by  her  morning  dress  showed  that  a  separation  of  the  two 
was  about  to  happen.  Taking  the  hand  of  the  gentleman 
with  both  of  her  own,  as  she  pressed  it  with  fingers  inter- 
locked, the  lady  said,  in  a  voice  of  music,  and  with  great 
affection, 

"  Then,  my  dear  brother,  I  shall  certainly  hear  from  you 
within  the  week,  and  see  you  next  ?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  the  gentleman,  as  he  tenderly  paid 
his  adieus  ;  then  throwing  himself  into  the  chaise,  it  dashed 
from  the  door,  like  the  passage  of  a  meteor.  The  horsemen 
followed  ;  the  unridden  charger,  obedient  to  the  orders  of 
his  keeper,  wheeled  gracefully  into  his  station  ;  and  in  an 


PR  EC  A  UTION.  201 

instant  they  were  all  lost  amidst  the  wood,  through  which 
the  road  to  the  park  gates  conducted. 

After  lingering  without  until  the  last  of  her  brother's 
followers  had  receded  from  her  sight,  the  lady  retired 
through  ranks  of  liveried  footmen  and  maids,  whom  curi- 
osity or  respect  had  collected. 

The  young  traveller  wore  a  gloom  on  his  expressive 
features,  amidst  the  pageantry  that  surrounded  him,  which 
showed  the  insufficiency  of  wealth  and  honors  to  fill  the 
sum  of  human  happiness.  As  his  carriage  rolled  proudly 
up  an  eminence  ere  he  had  reached  the  confines  of  his  ex- 
tensive park,  his  eyes  rested,  for  a  moment,  on  a  scene  in 
which  meadows,  forests,  fields  waving  with  golden  corn, 
comfortable  farm-houses  surrounded  with  innumerable 
cottages,  were  seen  in  almost  endless  variety.  All  these 
owned  him  for  their  lord,  and  one  quiet  smile  of  satisfac- 
tion beamed  on  his  face  as  he  gazed  on  the  unlimited 
view.  Could  the  heart  of  that  youth  have  been  read,  it 
would  at  that  moment  have  told  a  story  very  different  from 
the  feelings  such  a  scene  is  apt  to  excite  ;  it  would  have 
spoken  the  consciousness  of  well  applied  wealth,  the  grati- 
fication of  contemplating  meritorious  deeds,  and  a  heart- 
felt gratitude  to  the  Being  which  had  enabled  him  to  be- 
come the  dispenser  of  happiness  to  so  many  of  his  fellow- 
creatures. 

"Which  way,  my  lord,  so  early  ?"  cried  a  gentleman  in 
a  phaeton,  as  he  drew  up,  on  his  way  to  a  wntering-place, 
to  pay  his  own  parting  compliments. 

"To  Eltringham,  Sir  Owen,  to  attend  the  marriage  of 
my  kinsman,  Mr.  Denbigh,  to  one  of  the  sisters  of  the 
marquis."  « 

A  few  more  questions  and  answers,  and  the  gentlemen, 
exchanging  friendly  adieus,  pursued  each  his  own  course  ; 
Sir  Owen  Ap  Rice  pushing  forward  for  Cheltenham,  and 
the  Earl  of  Pendennyss  proceeding  to  act  as  groomsman 
to  his  cousin. 

The  gates  of  Eltringham  were  open  to  the  admission  of 
many  an  equipage  on  the  following  day,  and  the  heart  of 
the  Lady  Laura  beat  quick,  as  the  sound  of  wheels,  at  dif- 
ferent times,  reached  her  ears.  At  last  an  unusual  move- 
ment in  the  house  drew  her  to  a  window  of  her  dressing- 
room,  and  the  blood  rushed  to  her  heart  as  she  beheld  the 
equipages  which  were  rapidly  approaching,  and  through 
the  mist  which  stole  over  her  eyes  she  saw  alight  from  the 
first,  the  Duke  of  Derwent  and  the  bridegroom,  The  next 


202  PRECA  UTION. 

contained  Lord  Pendennyss,  and  the  last  the  Bishop 

of .  Lady  Laura  waited  to  see  no  more,  but  with  a 

heart  filled  with  terror,  hope,  joy,  and  uneasiness,  she 
threw  herself  into  the  arms  of  one  of  her  sisters. 

"Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Lord  Henry  Stapleton,  about  a  week 
after  the  wedding  of  his  sister,  seizing  John  suddenly  by 
the  arm,  while  the  latter  was  taking  his  morning  walk  to 
the  residence  of  the  Dowager  Lady  Chatterton,  "  Mose- 
ley,  you  dissipated  youth,  in  town  yet !  you  told  me  you 
should  stay  but  a  day,  and  here  I  find  you  at  the  end  of 
a  fortnight." 

John  blushed  a  little  at  the  consciousness  of  his  reason 
for  sending  a  written,  instead  of  carrying  a  verbal  report, 
of  the  result  of  his  journey,  but  replied, 

"Yes,  my  friend  Chatterton  unexpectedly  arrived,  and 
so — and  so  "• 

"And  so  you  did  not  go,  I  presume  you  mean,"  cried 
Lord  Henry,  with  a  laugh. 

"Yes,"  said  John,  "  and  so  I  staid — but  where  is  Den- 
bigh?" 

" Where? — why  with  his  wife,  where  every  well-be- 
haved man  should  be,  especially  for  the  first  month,"  re- 
joined the  sailor,  gayly. 

"Wife  !"  echoed  John,  as  soon  as  he  felt  able  to  give 
utterance  to  his  words — "wife  !  is  he  married?" 

"  Married,"  cried  Lord  Henry,  imitating  his  manner, 
"  are  you  yet  to  learn  that  ?  Why  did  you  ask  for  him  ? " 

0  Ask  for  him  ?"  said  Moseley,  yet  lost  in  astonishment  ; 
"but  when — how — where  did  he  marry — my  lord  ?" 

Lord  Henry  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  with  a  surprise 
little  short  of  his  own,  as  he  answered  more  gravely  : 

"When? — last  Tuesday  ;  how? — by  special  license,  and 

the  Bishop  of  ;  where  ? — at  Eltringham.  Yes,  my 

dear  fellow,"  continued  he,  with  his  former  gayety, 
"  George  is  my  brother  now — and  a  fine  fellow  he  is." 

"  I  really  wish  your  lordship  much  joy,"  said  John,  strug- 
gling to  command  his  feelings. 

"  Thank  you — thank  you,"  replied  the  sailor;  "a  jolly 
time  we  had  of  it,  Moseley.  I  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  you 
had  been  there  ;  no  bolting  or  running  away  as  soon  as 
spliced,  but  a  regularly-constructed,  old-fashioned  wed- 
ding ;  all  my  doings.  I  wrote  Laura  that  time  was  scarce, 
and  I  had  none  to  throw  away  on  fooleries  ;  so,  dear,  good 
soul,  she  consented  to  let  me  have  everything  my  own  way. 
We  had  Derwent  and  Pendennyss,  the  marquis,  Lord  Wil 


PRECA  UTION.  203 

liam,  and  myself,  for  groomsmen,  and  my  three  sisters  — 
ah,  that  was  bad,  but  there  was  no  helping  it — Lady  Har- 
riet Denbigh,  and  an  old  maid,  a  cousin  of  ours,  for  brides- 
maids ;  could  not  help  the  old  maid,  either,  upon  my  honor, 
or  be  quite  certain  I  would." 

How  much  of  what  he  said  Moseley  heard,  we  cannot 
say  ;  for  had  he  talked  an  hour  longer  he  would  have  been 
uninterrupted.  Lord  Henry  was  too  much  engaged  with 
his  description  to  notice  his  companion's  taciturnity  or  sur- 
prise, and  after  walking  a  square  or  two  together  they 
parted  ;  the  sailor  being  on  the  wing  for  his  frigate  at 
Yarmouth. 

John  continued  his  course,  musing  on  the  intelligence 
he  had  just  heard.  That  Denbigh  could  forget  Emily  so 
soon,  he  would  not  believe,  and  he  greatly  feared  he  had 
been  driven  into  a  step,  from  despair,  that  he  might  here- 
after repent  of.  The  avoiding  of  himself  was  now  fully 
explained  ;  but  would  Lady  Laura  Stapleton  accept  a  man 
for  a  husband  at  so  short  a  notice  ?  and  for  the  first  time  a 
suspicion  that  something  in  the  character  of  Denbigh  was 
wrong,  mingled  in  his  reflections  on  his  sister's  refusal  of 
his  offers. 

Lord  and  Lady  Herriefield  were  on  the  eve  of  their  de- 
parture for  the  continent  (for  Catherine  had  been  led  to 
the  altar  the  preceding  week),  a  southern  climate  having 
been  prescribed  as  necessary  to  the  bridegroom's  constitu- 
tion ;  and  the  dowager  and  Grace  were  about  to  proceed 
to  a  seat  of  the  baron's  within  a  couple  of  miles  of  Bath. 
Chatterton  himself  had  his  own  engagements,  but  he 
promised  to  be  there  in  company  with  his  friend  Derwent 
within  a  fortnight  ;  the  former  visit  having  been  post- 
poned by  the  marriages  in  their  respective  families. 

John  had  been  assiduous  in  his  attentions  during  the 
season  of  forced  ga}^ety  which  followed  the  nuptials  of 
Kate  ;  and  as  the  dowager's  time  was  monopolized  with 
the  ceremonials  of  that  event,  Grace  had  risen  greatly  in 
his  estimation.  If  Grace  Chatterton  was  not  more  misera- 
ble than  usual,  at  what  she  thought  was  the  destruction  of 
her  sister's  happiness,  it  was  owing  to  the  presence  and 
unconcealed  affection  of  John  Moseley. 

The  carriage  of  Lord  Herriefield  was  in  waiting  when 
John  rang  for  admittance.  On  opening  the  door  and  en- 
tering the  drawing-room,  he  saw  the  bride  and  bridegroom, 
with  their  mother  and  sister,  accoutred  for  an  excursion 
among  the  shops  of  Bund  Street  ;  for  Kate  was  dying  to 


204  PRECA  UT1ON. 

find  a  vent  for  some  of  her  surplus  pin-money — her  hus- 
band to  show  his  handsome  wife  in  the  face  of  the  world — • 
the  mother  to  display  the  triumph  of  her  matrimonial 
schemes.  And  Grace  was  forced  to  obey  her  mother's 
commands,  in  accompanying  her  sister  as  an  attendant, 
not  to  be  dispensed  with  at  all  in  her  circumstances. 

The  entrance  of  John  at  that  instant,  though  nothing 
more  than  what  occurred  every  day  at  that  hour,  deranged 
the  whole  plan  ;  the  dowager,  for  a  moment,  forgot  her 
resolution,  and  forgot  the  necessity  of  Grace's  appearance, 
exclaiming  with  evident  satisfaction, 

"  Here  is  Mr.  Moseley  come  to  keep  you  company, 
Grace  ;  so,  after  all,  you  must  consult  your  headache  and 
stay  at  home.  Indeed,  my  love,  I  never  can  consent  you 
should  go  out.  I  not  only  wish,  but  insist  you  remain 
within  this  morning." 

Lord  Herriefield  looked  at  his  mother-in-law  in  some 
surprise,  and  threw  a  suspicious  glance  on  his  own  rib  at 
the  moment,  which  spoke  as  plainly  as  looks  can  speak, 

"  Is  it  possible  I  have  been  taken  in,  after  all  ? " 

Grace  was  unused  to  resist  her  mother's  commands,  and 
throwing  off  her  hat  and  shawl,  reseated  herself  with  more 
composure  than  she  would  probably  have  done,  had  not 
the  attentions  of  Moseley  been  more  delicate  and  pointed 
of  late  than  formerly. 

As  they  passed  the  porter,  Lady  Chatterton  observed  to 
him  significantly — "  Nobody  at  home,  Willis."  "Yes,  my 
lady,"  was  the  laconic  reply,  and  Lord  Herriefield,  as  he 
took  his  seat  by  the  side  of  his  wife  in  the  carriage,  thought 
she  was  not  as  handsome  as  usual. 

Lady  Chatterton  that  morning  unguardedly  laid  the 
foundation  of  years  of  misery  for  her  eldest  daughter  :  or 
rather  the  foundations  were  already  laid  in  the  ill-assorted 
and  heartless  unprincipled  union  she  had  labored  with  suc- 
cess to  effect.  But  she  had  that  morning  stripped  the 
mask  from  her  own  character  prematurely,  and  excited 
suspicions  in  the  breast  of  her  son-in-law,  which  time  only 
served  to  confirm,  and  memory  to  brood  over. 

Lord  Herriefield  had  been  too  long  in  the  world  not  to 
understand  all  the  ordinary  arts  of  match-makers  and 
match-hunters.  Like  most  of  his  own  sex  who  have  asso- 
ciated freely  with  the  worst  part  of  the  other,  his  opinions 
of  female  excellences  were  by  no  means  extravagant  or 
romantic.  Kate  had  pleased  his  eye  ;  she  was  of  a  noble 
family  ;  young,  and  at  that  moment  interestingly  quiet, 


PRECA  UTION.  205 

having  nothing  particularly  in  view.  She  had  a  taste  of 
her  own,  and  Lord  Herriefield  was  by  no  means  in  con- 
formity with  it  ;  consequently,  she  expended  none  of  those 
pretty  little  arts  upon  him  which  she  occasionally  prac- 
tised, and  which  his  experience  would  immediately  have 
detected.  Her  disgust  he  had  attributed  to  disinterested- 
ness ;  and  as  Kate  had  fixed  her  eye  on  a  young  officer 
lately  returned  from  France,  and  her  mother  on  a  duke 
who  was  mourning  the  death  of  a  third  wife,  devising 
means  to  console  him  with  a  fourth — the  viscount  had  got 
a  good  deal  enamored  with  the  lady,  before  either  she  or 
her  mother  took  any  particular  notice  that  there  was  such 
a  being  in  existence.  His  title  was  not  the  most  elevated, 
but  it  was  ancient.  His  paternal  acres  were  not  numer- 
ous, but  his  East  India  shares  were.  He  was  not  very 
young,  but  he  was  not  very  old  ;  and  as  the  duke  died  of  a 
fit  of  the  gout  in  his  stomach,  and  the  officer  ran  away 
with  a  girl  in  her  teens  from  a  boarding  school,  the  dow- 
ager and  her  daughter,  after  thoroughly  scanning  the 
fashionable  world,  determined,  for  want  of  a  better,  that 
he  would  do. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  mother  and  child  held 
any  open  communication  with  each  other  to  this  effect. 
The  delicacy  and  pride  of  both  would  have  been  greatly 
injured  by  such  a  suspicion ;  yet  they  arrived  simultane- 
ously at  the  same  conclusion,  as  well  as  at  another  of  equal 
importance  to  the  completion  of  their  schemes  on  the  vis- 
count. It  was  simply  to  adhere  to  the  same  conduct  which 
had  made  him  a  captive,  as  most  likely  to  insure  the  victory. 

There  was  such  a  general  understanding  between  the 
two  it  can  excite  no  surprise  that  they  co-operated  har- 
moniously as  it  were  by  signal. 

For  two  people,  correctly  impressed  with  their  duties 
and  responsibilities,  to  arrive  at  the  same  conclusion  in  the 
government  of  their  conduct,  would  be  merely  a  matter  of 
course  ;  and  so  with  those  who  are  more  or  less  under  the 
dominion  of  the  world.  They  will  pursue  their  plans  with 
a  degree  of  concurrence  amounting  nearly  to  sympathy  ; 
and  thus  had  Kate  and  her  mother,  until  this  morning, 
kept  up  the  masquerade  so  well  that  the  viscount  was  as 
confiding  as  a  country  Corydon.  When  he  first  witnessed 
the  dowager's  management  with  Grace  and  John,  however, 
and  his  wife's  careless  disregard  of  a  thing  which  appeared 
too  much  a  matter  of  course  to  be  quite  agreeable,  his 
newly  awakened  distrust  approached  conviction. 


206  PRECA  UTION. 

Grace  Chatterton  both  sang  and  played  exquisitely  ;  it 
was,  however,  seldom  she  could  sufficiently  overcome  her 
desire,  when  John  was  an  auditor,  to  appear  to  advantage. 

As  the  party  went  down  stairs,  and  Moseley  had  gone 
with  them  part  of  the  way,  she  threw  herself  unconsciously 
on  a  seat,  and  began  a  beautiful  song  that  was  fashionable 
at  the  time.  Her  feelings  were  in  consonance  with  the 
words,  and  Grace  was  very  happy  both  in  execution  and 
voice. 

John  had  reached  the  back  of  her  seat  before  she  was  at 
all  sensible  of  his  return,  and  Grace  lost  her  self-command 
immediately.  She  rose  and  took  a  seat  on  a  sofa,  and  the 
young  man  was  immediately  at  her  side. 

"Ah,  Grace,"  said  John,  the  lady's  heart  beating  high, 
"you  certainly  do  sing  as  you  do  everything,  admirably." 

"  I  am  happy  you  think  so,  Mr.  Moseley,"  returned 
Grace,  looking  everywhere  but  in  his  face. 

John's  eyes  ran  over  her  beauties,  as  with  palpitating 
bosom  and  varying  color  she  sat  confused  at  the  unusual 
warmth  of  his  language  and  manner. 

Fortunately  a  remarkably  striking  likeness  of  the  dow- 
ager hung  directly  over  their  heads,  and  John  taking  her 
unresisting  hand,  continued, 

"  Dear  Grace,  you  resemble  your  mother  very  much  in 
features,  and  what  is  better  still,  in  character." 

"  I  could  wish,"  said  Grace,  venturing  to  look  up,  "to 
resemble  your  sister  Emily  in  the  latter." 

"And  why  not  to  be  her  sister,  dear  Grace  ?"  said  he 
with  ardor.  "  You  are  worthy  to  become  her  sister.  Tell 
me,  Grace,  dear  Miss  Chatterton — can  you^— will  you  make 
me  the  happiest  of  men  ?  May  I  present  another  inestima- 
ble daughter  to  my  parents  ?  " 

As  John  paused  for  an  answer  Grace  looked  up,  and  he 
waited  her  reply  in  evident  anxiety  ;  but  she  continued 
silent,  now  pale  as  death,  and  now  of  the  color  of  the  rose, 
and  he  added : 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  offended  you,  dearest  Grace  :  you 
are  all  that  is  desirable  to  me  ;  my  hopes,  my  happiness, 
are  centred  in  you.  Unless  you  consent  to  become  my 
wife,  I  must  be  very  wretched." 

Grace  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears  as  her  lover,  interested 
deeply  in  their  cause,  gently  drew  her  toward  him.  Her 
head  sank  on  his  shoulder,  as  she  fairly  whispered  some- 
thing that  was  inaudible,  but  which  he. did  not  fail  to  in- 
terpret into  everything  he  most  wished  to  hear.  John 


PRECA  UTION.  207 

was  in  ecstasies.  Every  unpleasant  feeling  of  suspicion 
had  left  him.  Of  Grace's  innocence  of  manoeuvring  he 
never  doubted,  but  John  did  not  relish  the  idea  of  being 
entrapped  into  anything,  even  a  step  which  he  desired.  An 
uninterrupted  communication  followed  ;  it  was  as  confid- 
ing as  their  affections  ;  and  the  return  of  the  dowager  and 
her  children  first  recalled  them  to  the  recollection  of  other 
people. 

One  glance  at  the  eye  was  enough  for  Lady  Chatterton. 
She  saw  the  traces  of  tears  on  the  cheeks  and  in  the  eyes 
of  Grace,  and  the  dowager  was  satisfied  ;  she  knew  his 
friends  would  not  object ;  and  as  Grace  attended  her  to 
her  dressing-room,  she  cried  on  entering  it,  "Well,  child, 
when  is  the  wedding  to  be  ?  You  will  wear  me  out  with 
so  much  gayety." 

Grace  was  shocked,  but  did  not,  as  formerly,  weep  over 
her  mother's  interference  in  agony  and  dread.  John  had 
opened  his  whole  soul  to  her,  observing  the  greatest  deli- 
cacy toward  her  mother,  and  she  now  felt  her  happiness 
placed  in  the  keeping  of  a  man  whose  honor  she  believed 
much  exceeded  that  of  any  other  human  being. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

THE  seniors  of  the  party  at  Benfield  Lodge  were  all  as- 
sembled one  morning  in  a  parlor,  when  its  master  and 
the  baronet  were  occupied  in  the  perusal  of  the  London 
papers.  Clara  had  persuaded  her  sisters  to  accompany 
her  and  Francis  in  an  excursion  as  far  as  the  village. 

Jane  yet  continued  reserved  and  distant  to  most  of  her 
friends  ;  while  Emily's  conduct  would  have  escaped  un- 
noticed, did  not  her  blanched  cheek  and  wandering  looks 
at  times  speak  a  language  not  to  be  misunderstood.  With 
all  her  relatives  she  maintained  the  affectionate  inter- 
course she  had  always  supported  ;  though  not  even  to 
her  aunt  did  the  name  of  Denbigh  pass  her  lips.  But  in 
her  most  private  and  humble  petitions  to  God  she  never 
forgot  to  mingle  with  her  requests  for  spiritual  blessings 
on  herself  fervent  prayers  for  the  conversion  of  the  pre- 
server of  her  life. 

Mrs.  Wilson,  as  she  sat  by  the  side  of  her  sister  at  their 
needles,  first  discovered  an  unusual  uneasiness  in  their 
venerable  host,  while  he  turned  his  paper  over  and  over, 


208  PRECA  U 

as  if  unwilling  or  unable  to  comprehend  some  part  of  its 
contents,  until  he  rang  the  bell  violently,  and  bid  the  ser 
vant  to  send  Johnson  to  him  without  a  moment's  delay. 

"  Peter,"  said  Mr.  Benfield,  doubtingly,  "read  that — your 
eyes  are  young,  Peter  ;  read  that." 

Peter  took  the  paper,  and  after  having  adjusted  his 
spectacles  to  h;s  satisfaction,  he  proceeded  to  obey  his 
master's  injunctions  ;  but  the  same  defect  of  vision  as  sud- 
denly seized  the  steward  as  it  had  affected  his  master.  He 
turned  the  paper  sideways,  and  appeared  to  be  spelling 
the  matter  of  the  paragraph  to  himself.  Peter  would  have 
given  his  three  hundred  a  year  to  have  had  the  impatient 
John  Moseley  at  hand,  to  relieve  him  from  his  task  ;  but 
the  anxiety  of  Mr.  Benfield  overcoming  his  fear  of  the 
worst,  he  inquired  in  a  tremulous  tone — 

"  Peter  ?  hem  !  Peter,  what  do  you  think  ?" 

"Why,  your  honor,"  replied  the  steward,  stealing  a  look 
at  his  master,  "  it  does  seem  so,  indeed." 

"I  remember,"  said  the  master,  "when  Lord  Gosford 
saw  the  marriage  of  the  countess  anounced  he  " 

Here  the  old  gentleman  was  obliged  to  stop,  and  rising 
with  dignity,  and  leaning  on  the  arm  of  his  faithful  ser- 
vant, he  left  the  room. 

Mrs.  Wilson  immediately  took  up  the  paper,  and  her 
eye  catching  the  paragraph  at  a  glance,  she  read  aloud  as 
follows  to  her  expecting  friends  : 

"  Married,  by  special  license,  at  the  seat  of  the  Most 
Noble  the  Marquis  of  Eltringham,  in  Devonshire,  by  the 

Right  Rev.  Lord  Bishop  of ,  George   Denbigh,  Esq., 

Lieutenant  Colonel  of  his  Majesty's  -  -  regiment  of 
dragoons,  to  the  Right  Honorable  Lady  Laura  Stapleton, 
eldest  sister  of  the  Marquis.  Eltringham  was  honored  on 
the  present  happy  occasion  with  the  presence  of  his  grace 
of  Derwent,  and  th&  gallant  Lord  Pendennyss,  kinsman  of 
the  bridegroom,  and  Captain  Lord  Henry  Stapleton,  of 
the  Royal  Navy.  We  understand  that  the  happy  couple 
proceed  to  Denbigh  Castle  immediately  after  the  honey- 
moon." 

Although  Mrs.  Wilson  had  given  up  the  expectation  of 
ever  seeing  her  niece  the  wife  of  Denbigh,  she  felt  an  inde- 
scribable shock  as  she  read  this  paragraph.  The  strongest 
feeling  was  horror  at  the  danger  Emily  had  been  in  of 
contracting  an  alliance  with  such  a  man.  His  avoiding 
the  ball,  at  which  he  knew  Lord  Henry  was  expected,  was 
e^nlained  to  her  by  this  marriage  ;  for  with  John,  she 


PR  EC  A  UTION.  209 

could  not  believe  a  woman  like  Lady  Laura  Stapleton 
was  to  be  won  in  the  short  space  of  one  fortnight,  or 
indeed  less.  There  was  too  evidently  a  mystery  yet  to  be 
developed,  and,  she  felt  certain,  one  that  would  not  ele- 
vate his  character  in  her  opinion. 

Neither  Sir  Edward  nor  Lady  Moseley  had  given  up  the 
expectation  of  seeing  Denbigh  again,  as  a  suitor  for  Emily's 
hand,  and  to  both  of  them  this  certainty  of  his  loss  was  a 
heavy  blow.  The  baronet  took  up  the  paper,  and  after 
perusing  the  article,  he  muttered  in  a  low  tone,  as  he  wiped 
the  tears  from  his  eyes,  "  Heaven  bless  him  ;  I  sincerely 
hope  she  is  worthy  of  him."  Worthy  of  him,  thought  Mrs. 
Wilson,  with  a  feeling  of  indignation,  as,  taking  up  the 
paper,  she  retired  to  her  own  room,  whither  Emily,  at  that 
moment  returned  from  her  walk,  had  proceeded.  As  her 
niece  must  hear  this  news,  she  thought  the  sooner  the  bet- 
ter. The  exercise,  and  the  unreserved  conversation  of 
Francis  and  Clara,  had  restored  in  some  degree  the  bloom 
to  the  cheek  of  Emily ;  and  Mrs.  Wilson  felt  it  necessary 
to  struggle  with  herself  before  she  could  summon  sufficient 
resolution  to  invade  the  returning  peace  of  her  charge. 
However,  having  already  decided  on  her  course,  she  pro- 
ceeded to  the  discharge  of  what  she  thought  to  be  a  duty. 

tl  Emily,  my  child,"  she  whispered,  pressing  her  affec- 
tionately to  her  bosom,  "you  have  been  all  I  could  wish, 
and  more  than  I  expected,  under  your  arduous  struggles. 
But  one  more  pang,  and  I  trust  your  recollections  on  this 
painful  subject  will  be  done  away." 

Emily  looked  at  her  aunt  in  anxious  expectation  of  what 
was  coming,  and  quietly  taking  the  paper,  followed  the  di- 
rection of  Mrs.  Wilson's  finger  to  the  article  on  the  mar- 
riage of  Denbigh. 

There  was  a  momentary  struggle  in  Emily  for  self-com- 
mand. She  was  obliged  to  find  support  in  a  chair.  The 
returning  richness  of  color,  excited  by  her  walk,  vanished  ; 
but,  recovering  herself,  she  pressed  the  hand  of  her  anxious 
guardian,  and,  gently  waving  her  back,  proceeded  to  her 
own  room. 

On  her  return  to  the  company  the  same  control  of  her1 
feelings  which  had  distinguished  her  conduct  of  late  was 
again  visible ;  and,  although  her  aunt  most  narrowly 
watched  her  movements,  looks,  and  speeches,  she  could 
discern  no  visible  alteration  by  this  confirmation  of  mis- 
conduct. The  truth  was,  that  in  Emily  Moseley  the  obliga- 
tions of  duty  were  so  imperative,  her  sense  of  her  depend- 

14 


210  PRECAUTION. 

ence  on  Providence  so  humbling  and  yet  so  confiding,  that 
us  soon  as  she  was  taught  to  believe  her  lover  unworthy  of 
her  esteem,  that  moment  an  insuperable  barrier  separated 
them.  His  marriage  could  add  nothing  to  the  distance  be- 
tween them.  It  was  impossible  they  could  be  united  ;  and 
although  a  secret  lingering  of  the  affections  over  his  fallen 
character  might  and  did  exist,  it  existed  without  any  roman- 
tic expectations  of  miracles  in  his  favor,  or  vain  wishes  of 
reformation,  in  which  self  was  the  prominent  feeling.  She 
might  be  said  to  be  keenly  alive  to  all  that  concerned  his 
welfare  or  movements,  if  she  did  not  harbor  the  passion  of 
love  ;  but  it  showed  itself  in  prayers  for  his  amendment  of 
life,  and  the  most  ardent  petitions  for  his  future  and  eter- 
nal happiness.  She  had  set  about,  seriously  and  with 
much  energy,  the  task  of  erasing  from  her  heart  sentiments 
which,  however  delightful  she  had  found  it  to  entertain  in 
times  past,  were  now  in  direct  variance  with  her  duty. 
She  knew  that  a  weak  indulgence  of  such  passions  would 
tend  to  draw  her  mind  from,  and  disqualify  her  to  dis- 
charge, those  various  calls  on  her  time  and  her  exertions 
which  could  alone  enable  her  to  assist  others,  or  effect  in 
her  own  person  the  great  purposes  of  her  creation.  It  was 
never  lost  sight  of  by  Emily  Moseley  that  her  existence 
here  was  preparatory  to  an  immensely  more  important 
state  hereafter.  She  was  consequently  in  charity  with  all 
mankind ;  and  if  grown  a  little  more  distrustful  of  the  in- 
tentions of  her  fellow-creatures,  it  was  a  mistrust  bottomed 
in  a  clear  view  of  the  frailties  of  our  nature  ;  and  self- 
examination  was  among  the  not  unfrequent  speculations 
she  made  on  this  hasty  marriage  of  her  former  lover. 

Mrs.  Wilson  saw  all  this,  and  was  soon  made  acquainted 
by  her  niece  in  terms  with  her  views  of  herown  condition  ; 
and  although  she  had  to,  and  did  deeply  regret,  that  all 
her  caution  had  not  been  able  to  guard  against  deception, 
where  it  was  most  important  for  her  to  guide  aright,  yet 
she  was  cheered  with  the  reflection  that  her  previous  care, 
with  the  blessings  of  Providence,  had  admirably  fitted  her 
charge  to  combat  and  overcome  the  consequences  of  their 
mistaken  confidence. 

The  gloom  which  this  little  paragraph  excited  extended 
to  every  individual  in  the  family,  for  all  had  placed  Den- 
bigh by  the  side  of  John  in  their  affections,  ever  since  his 
weighty  services  to  Emily. 

A  letter  from  John  announcing  his  intention  of  meeting 
them  at  Bath,  as  well  as  his  new  relation  with  Grace,  re- 


PRECAUTION.  21  i 

Heved  in  some  measure  this  general  depression  uf  spirits. 
Mr.  Benfield  alone  found  no  consolation  in  the  approach- 
ing nuptials.  John  he  regarded  as  his  nephew,  and  Grace 
he  thought  a  very  good  sort  of  young  woman  ;  but  nei- 
ther of  them  were  beings  of  the  same  genus  with  Emily 
and  Denbigh. 

"  Peter,"  said  he  one  day,  after  they  had  both  been  ex- 
pending their  ingenuity  in  vain  efforts  to  discover  the 
cause  of  this  so-much-desired  marriage  being  so  unex- 
pectedly frustrated,  "have  I  not  often  told  you,  that  fate 
governed  these  things,  in  order  that  men  might  be  hum- 
ble in  this  life  ?  Now,  Peter,  had  the  Lady  Juliana  wed- 
ded with  a  mind  congenial  to  her  own,  she  might  have  been 
mistress  of  Benfield  Lodge  to  this  very  hour." 

<;Yes,  your  honor — but  there's  Miss  Emmy's  legacy." 

And  Peter  withdrew,  thinking  what  would  have  been 
the  consequences  had  Patty  Steele  been  more  willing, 
when  he  wished  to  make  her  Mrs.  Peter  Johnson — an  as- 
sociation by  no  means  uncommon  in  the  mind  of  the  stew- 
ard ;  for  if  Patty  had  ever  a  rival  in  his  affections,  it  was 
in  the  person  of  Emily  Moseley,  though,  indeed,  with  very 
different  degrees  and  coloring  of  esteem. 

The  excursions  to  the  cottage  had  been  continued  by 
Mrs.  Wilson  and  Emily,  and,  as  no  gentleman  was  now  in 
the  family  to  interfere  with  their  communications,  a  gen- 
eral visit  to  the  young  widow  had  been  made  by  the  Mose- 
leys,  including  Sir  Edward  and  Mr.  Ives. 

The  Jarvises  had  gone  to  London  to  receive  their  chil- 
dren, now  penitent  in  more  senses  than  one  ;  and  Sir  Ed- 
ward learned  with  pleasure  that  Egerton  and  his  wife  had 
been  admitted  into  the  fanfily  of  the  merchant. 

Sir  Edgar  had  died  suddenly,  and  the  entailed  estates 
had  fallen  to  his  successor,  the  colonel,  now  Sir  Harry; 
but  the  bulk  of  his  wealth,  being  in  convertible  property, 
he  had  given  by  will  to  his  other  nephew,  a  young  clergy- 
man, and  a  son  of  a  younger  brother.  Mary,  as  well  as 
her  mother,  was  greatly  disappointed  by  this  deprivation 
of  what  they  considered  their  lawful  splendor  ;  but  they 
found  great  consolation  in  the  new  dignity  of  Lady  Eger- 
ton, whose  greatest  wish  now  was  to  meet  the  Moseleys, 
in  order  that  she  might  precede  them  in  or  out  of  some 
place  where  such  ceremonials  are  observed.  The  sound 
of  "  Lady  Egerton's  carriage  stops  the  way,"  was  delight- 
ful, and  it  never  failed  to  be  used  on  all  occasions,  al- 
though her  ladyship  was  mistress  of  only  a  hired  vehicle. 


212  PRECA  UTIOtf. 

A  slight  insight  into  the  situation  of  things  among  them 
may  be  found  in  the  following  narrative  of  their  views,  as 
revealed  in  a  discussion  which  took  place  about  a  fort- 
night after  the  reunion  of  the  family  under  one  roof. 

Mrs.  Jarvis  was  mistress  of  a  very  handsome  coach,  the 
gift  of  her  husband  for  her  own  private  use.  After  hav- 
ing satisfied  herself  the  baronet  (a  dignity  he  Had  enjoyed 
just  twenty-four  hours)  did  not  possess  the  ability  to  furnish 
his  lady,  as  she  termed  her  daughter,  with  such  a  luxury, 
she  magnanimously  determined  to  relinquish  her  own,  in 
support  of  the  new-found  elevation  of  her  daughter.  Ac- 
cordingly, a  consultation  on  the  alterations  which  were 
necessary  took  place  between  the  ladies — "The  arms  must 
be  altered,  of  course,"  Lady  Egerton  observed,  "  and  Sir 
Harry's,  with  the  bloody  hand  and  six  quarterings,  put  in 
their  place  ;  then  the  liveries,  they  must  be  changed." 

"  Oh,  mercy !  my  lady,  if  the  arms  are  altered,  Mr.  Jarvis 
will  be  sure  to  notice  it,  and  he  would  never  forgive  me  ; 
and  perhaps  "- 

"  Perhaps  what  ?  "  exclaimed  the  new-made  lady,  with  a 
disdainful  toss  of  her  head. 

"Why,"  replied  the  mother,  warmly,  "not  give  me  the 
hundred  pounds  he  promised,  to  have  it  new  lined  and 
painted  ? " 

"  Fiddlesticks  with  the  painting,  Mrs.  Jarvis,"  cried  the 
lady,  with  dignity  :  "  no  carriage  shall  be  called  mine  that 
does  not  bear  my  arms  and  the  bloody  hand." 

"  Why,  your  ladyship  is  unreasonable — indeed  you  are," 
said  Mrs.  Jarvis,  coaxingly  ;  and  then,  after  a  moment's 
thought,  she  continued,  "  is  it  the  arms  or  the  baronetcy 
you  want,  my  dear  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  care  nothing  for  the  arms,  but  I  am  determined, 
now  I  am  a  baronet's  lady,  Mrs.  Jarvis,  to  have  the  proper 
emblem  of  my  rank." 

"  Certainly,  my  lady,  that's  true  dignity.  Well,  then,  we 
will  put  the  bloody  hand  on  your  father's  arms,  and  he  will 
never  notice  it,  for  he  never  sees  siich  things." 

The  arrangement  was  happily  completed,  and  for  a  few 
days  the  coach  of  Mr.  Jarvis  bore  about  the  titled  dame, 
until  one  unlucky  day  the  merchant,  who  still  went  on 
'Change  when  any  great  bargain  in  the  stocks  was  to  be 
made,  arrived  at  his  own  door  suddenly,  to  procure  a  cal- 
culation he  had  made  on  the  leaf  of  his  prayer-book  the 
last  Sunday  during  sermon.  This  he  obtained  after  some 
search.  In  his  haste,  he  drove  to  his  broker's  in  the  car- 


PRECAUTION-.  213 

riage  of  his  wife,  to  save  time,  it  happening  to  be  in  wait- 
ing at  the  moment,  and  the  distance  not  great.  Mr.  Jarvis 
forgot  to  order  the  man  to  return,  and  for  an  hour  the 
vehicle  stood  in  one  of  the  most  public  places  in  the  city. 
The  consequence  was,  that  when  Mr.  Jarvis  undertook  to 
examine  into  his  gains,  with  the  account  rendered  of  the 
transaction  by  his  broker,  he  was  astonished  to  read,  "  Sir 
Timothy  Jarvis,  Bart,  in  account  with  John  Smith,  Dr." 
Sir  Timothy  examined  the  account  in  as  many  different, 
ways  as  Mr.  Benfield  had  examined  the  marriage  of  Den- 
bigh, before  he  would  believe  his  eyes  ;  and,  when  assured 
of  the  fact,  he  immediately  caught  up  his  hat,  and  went  to 
find  the  man  who  had  dared  to  insult  him,  as  it  were,  in  de- 
fiance of  the  formality  of  business.  Fie  had  not  proceeded 
one  square  in  the  city  before  he  met  a  friend,  who  spoke 
to  him  by  the  title  ;  an  explanation  of  the  mistake  fol- 
lowed, and  the  quasi-baronet  proceeded  to  his  stables. 
Here  by  actual  examination  he  detected  the  fraud.  An 
explanation  with  his  consort  followed  ;  and  the  painter's 
brush  soon  effaced  the  emblem  of  dignity  from  the  panels 
of  the  coach.  All  this  was  easy,  but  with  his  waggish 
companions  on  'Change  and  in  the  city  (where,  notwith- 
standing his  wife's  fashionable  propensities,  he  loved  to 
resort)  he  was  Sir  Timothy  still. 

Mr.  Jarvis,  though  a  man  of  much  modesty,  was  one  of 
great  decision,  and  he  determined  to  have  the  laugh  on  his 
side.  A  newly  purchased  borough  of  his  sent  up  an  ad- 
dress flaming  with  patriotism,  and  it  was  presented  by  his 
own  hands.  The  merchant  seldom  kneeled  to  his  Creator, 
but  on  this  occasion  he  humbled  himself  dutifully  before 
his  prince,  and  left  the  presence  with  a  legal  right  to  the 
appellation  which  his  old  companions  had  affixed  to  him 
sarcastically. 

The  rapture  of  Lady  Jarvis  may  be  more  easily  imagined 
than  faithfully  described,  the  Christian  name  of  her  hus- 
band alone  throwing  any  alloy  into  the  enjoyment  of  her 
elevation  ;  but  by  a  license  of  speech  she  ordered,  and  ad- 
dressed in  her  own  practice,  the  softer  and  more  familiar 
appellation  of  Sir  Timo.  Two  servants  were  discharged 
the  first  week,  because,  unused  to  titles,  they  had  addressed 
her  as  mistress  ;  and  her  son,  the  captain,  then  at  a  water- 
ing-place, was  made  acquainted  by  express  with  the  joyful 
intelligence. 

All  this  time  Sir  Henry  Egerton  was  but  little  seen 
among  his  new  relatives.  He  had  his  own  engagements 


2t4  PRECA  UTIOtf. 

and  haunts,  and  spent  most  of  his  time  at  a  fashionable 
gaming  house  in  the  West  End.  As,  however,  the  xovvu 
was  deserted,  Lady  Jarvis,  with  her  daughters,  having  con- 
descended to  pay  a  round  of  city  visits,  to  show  oft  ner  airs 
and  dignity  to  her  old  friends,  persuaded  Sir  Timo  ami 
the  hour  for  their  visit  to  Bath  had  arrived,  and  they  vvcrfe 
soon  comfortably  settled  in  that  city. 

Lady  Chatterton  and  her  youngest  daughter  had  arrived 
at  the  seat  of  her  son,  and  John  Moseley,  as  happy  as  tin 
certainty  of  love  returned,  and  the  approbation  of  \\\\ 
friends,  could  make  him,  was  in  lodgings  in  the  town.  Sir 
Edward  notified  his  son  of  his  approaching  visit  to  Bath, 
and  John  took  proper  accommodations  for  the  family, 
which  he  occupied  for  a  few  days  by  himself  as  locum  tcncns. 

Lord  and  Lady  Herriefield  had  departed  for  the  south 
of  France  ;  and  Kate,  removed  from  the  scenes  of  her 
earliest  enjoyments  and  the  bosom  of  her  own  family,  and 
under  the  protection  of  a  man  she  neither  loved  nor  re- 
spected, began  to  feel  the  insufficiency  of  a  name  or  of  a 
fortune  to  constitute  felicity.  Lord  Herriefield  was  of  a 
suspicious  and  harsh  temper,  the  first  propensity  being 
greatly  increased  by  his  former  associations,  and  the  latter 
not  being  removed  by  the  humility  of  his  eastern  depend- 
ents. But  the  situation  of  her  child  gave  no  uneasiness  to 
the  managing  mother,  who  thought  her  in  the  high-road 
to  happiness,  and  was  gratified  at  the  result  of  her  labors. 
Once  or  twice,  indeed,  her  habits  had  overcome  her  cau- 
tion so  much  as  to  endeavor  to  promote,  a  day  or  two 
sooner  than  had  been  arranged,  the  wedding  of  Grace  ;  but 
her  imprudence  was  checked  instantly  by  the  recoiling  of 
Moseley  from  her  insinuations  in  disgust ;  and  the  absence 
of  the  young  man  for  twenty-four  hours  gave  her  timely 
warning  of  the  danger  of  such  an  interference  with  one  of 
such  fastidious  feelings.  John  punished  himself  as  much 
as  the  dowager  on  these  occasions  ;  but  the  smiling  face  of 
Grace,  with  her  hand  frankly  .placed  in  his  own  at  his  re- 
turn, never  failed  to  do  away  the  unpleasant  sensations 
created  by  her  mother's  care. 

The  Chatterton  and  Jarvis  families  met  in  the  rooms, 
soon  after  the  arrival  of  the  latter,  when  the  lady  of  the 
knight,  followed  by  both  her  daughters,  approached  the 
dowager  with  a  most  friendly  salute  of  recognition.  Lady 

Chatterton,  really  forgetful  of  the  persons  of  her  B 

acquaintance,  and  disliking  the  vulgarity  of  her  air,  drew 
up  into  an  appearance  of  great  dignity,  as  she  hoped  the 


PRECA  UTION*.  215 

lady  was  well.  The  merchant's  wife  felt  the.*  consciousness 
of  rank  too  much  to  be  repulsed  in  this  manner,  and  be- 
lieving that  the  dowager  had  merely  forgotten  her  face, 
she  added,  with  a  simpering  smile,  in  imitation  of  what  she 
had  seen  better  bred  people  practise  with  success  : 

"Lady  Jarvis — my  lady — your  ladyship  don't  remember 
me — Lady  Jarvis  of  the  Deanery,  B ,  Northampton- 
shire, and  my  daughters,  Lady  Egertori  and  Miss  Jarvis." 
Lady  Egerton  bowed  stiffly  to  the  recognizing  smile  the 
dowager  now  condescended  to  bestow  ;  but  Sarah,  remem- 
bering a  certain  handsome  lord  in  the  family,  was  more 
urbane,  determining  at  the  moment  to  make  the  promo- 
tion of  her  mother  and  sister  stepping-stones  to  greater 
elevation  for  herself. 

"  I  hope  my  lord  is  well,"  continued  the  city  lady.  "  I 
regret  that  Sir  Timo,  and  Sir  Harry,  and  Captain  Jarvis, 
are  not  here  this  morning  to  pay  their  respects  to  your 
ladyship  ;  but  as  we  shall  see  naturally  a  good  deal  of  each 
other,  it  must  be  deferred  to  a  more  fitting  opportunity." 

"  Certainly,  madam,"  replied  the  do\vager,  as,  passing 
her  compliments  with  those  of  Grace,  she  drew  back  from 
so  open  a  conversation  with  creatures  of  such  doubtful 
standing  in  the  fashionable  world. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

ON  taking  leave  of  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  Emily  and  her  aunt 
settled  a  plan  of  correspondence  ;  the  deserted  situation 
of  this  young  woman  having  created  great  interest  in  the 
breasts  of  her  new  friends.  General  M'Carthy  had  returned 
to  Spain  without  receding  from  his  original  proposal,  and 
his  niece  was  left  to  mourn  her  early  departure  from  one 
of  the  most  solemn  duties  of  life. 

Mr.  Benfield,  thwarted  -in  one  of  his  most  favorite 
schemes  of  happiness  for  the  residue  of  his  life,  obstinate- 
ly refused  to  make  one  of  the  party  at  Bath  ;  and  Ives  and 
Clara  having  returned  to  Bolton,  the  remainder  of  the 
Moseleys  arrived  at  the  lodgings  of  John  a  very  few  days 
after  the  interview  of  the  preceding  chapter,  with  hearts 
ill  qualified  to  enter  into  the  gayeties  of  the  place,  though, 
in  obedience  to  the  wishes  of  Lady  Moseley,  to  see  and 
to  be  seen  once  more  on  that  great  theatre  of  fashionable 
amusement. 


216  PRECAUTION, 

The  friends  of  the  family  who  had  known  them  in  times 
past  were  numerous,  and  were  glad  to  renew  their  acquaint- 
ance with  those  they  had  always  esteemed  ;  so  that  they 
found  themselves  immediately  surrounded  by  a  circle  of 
smiling  faces  and  dashing  equipages. 

Sir  William  Harris,  the  proprietor  of  the  deanery  and  a 
former  neighbor,  with  his  showy  daughter,  were  among  the 
first  to  visit  them.  Sir  William  was  a  man  of  handsome 
estate  and  unexceptionable  character,  but  entirely  gov- 
erned by  the  whims  and  desires  of  his  only  child.  Caro- 
line Harris  wanted  neither  sense  nor  beauty,  but,  expecting 
a  fortune,  she  had  placed  her  views  too  high.  She  at  first 
aimed  at  the  peerage,  and,  while  she  felt  herself  entitled  to 
suit  her  tastes  as  well  as  her  ambition,  had  failed  of  her 
object  by  ill-concealed  efforts  to  attain  it.  She  had  justly 
acquired  the  reputation  of  the  reverse  of  a  coquette,  or  yet 
of  a  prude  ;  still  she  had  never  yet  received  an  offer,  and 
at  the  age  of  twenty-six  had  now  begun  to  lower  her 
thoughts  to  the  commonalty.  Her  fortune  would  have 
easily  obtained  her  a  husband  here,  but  she  was  deter- 
mined to  pick  among  the  lower  supporters  of  the  aris- 
tocracy of  the  nation.  With  the  Moseleys  she  had  been 
early  acquainted,  though  some  years  their  senior ;  a  cir- 
cumstance, however,  to  which  she  took  care  never  to  al- 
lude unnecessarily. 

The  meeting  between  Grace  and  the  Moseleys  was  ten- 
der and  sincere.  John's  countenance  glowed  with  delight, 
as  he  saw  his  future  wife  folded  successively  in  the  arms 
of  those  he  loved,  and  Grace's  tears  and  blushes  added 
twofold  charms  to  her  native  beauty.  Jane  relaxed  from 
her  reserve  to  receive  her  future  sister,  and  determined 
with  herself  to  appear  in  the  world,  in  order  to  show  Sir 
Henry  Egerton  that  she  did  not  feel  the  blow  he  had  in- 
flicted as  severely  as  the  truth  might  have  proved. 

The  dowager  found  some  little  occupation,  for  a  few 
days,  in  settling  with  Lady  Moseley  the  preliminaries  of 
the  wedding  ;  but  the  latter  had  suffered  too  much  through 
her  youngest  daughters  to  enter  into  these  formalities 
with  her  ancient  spirit.  All  things  were,  however,  happily 
settled  ;  and  Ives  making  a  journey  for  the  express  pur- 
pose, John  and  Grace  were  united  privately  at  the  altar  of 
one  of  the  principal  churches  at  Bath.  Chatterton  had 
been  summoned  on  the  occasion  ;  and  the  same  paper 
which  announced  the  nuptials,  contained  amongst  the 
fashionable  arrivals,  the  names  of  the  Duke  of  Derwent 


PRECAUTION.  21? 

and  his  sister,  the  Marquis  of  Eltringham  and  sisters, 
among  whom  was  to  be  found  Lady  Laura  Denbigh. 
Lady  Chatterton  carelessly  remarked,  in  presence  of  her 
friends,  the  husband  of  the  latter  was  summoned  to  the 
death-bed  of  a  relative,  from  whom  he  had  great  expecta- 
tions. Emily's  color  did  certainly  change  as  she  listened 
to  this  news,  but  not  allowing  her  thoughts  to  dwell  on 
the  subject,  she  was  soon  enabled  to  recall  her  serenity  of 
appearance. 

But  Jane  and  Emily  were  delicately  placed.  The  lover 
of  the  former,  and  the  wives  of  the  lovers  of  both,  were  in 
the  way  of  daily,  if  not  hourly  rencounters  ;  and  it  re- 
quired all  the  energies  of  the  young  women  to  appear  with 
composure  before  them.  The  elder  was  supported  by 
pride,  the  younger  by  principle.  The  first  was  restless, 
haughty,  distant,  and  repulsive.  The  last  mild,  humble,  re- 
served, but  eminently  attractive.  The  one  was  suspected 
by  all  around  her  ;  the  other  was  unnoticed  by  any  but  her 
nearest  and  dearest  friends. 

The  first  rencounter  with  these  dreaded  guests  occurred 
at  the  rooms  one  evening,  where  the  elder  ladies  had  in- 
sisted on  the  bride's  making  her  appearance.  The  Jar- 
vises  were  there  before  them,  and  at  their  entrance  caught 
the  eyes  of  the  group.  Lady  Jarvis  approached  immedi- 
ately, filled  with  exultation — her  husband  with  respect. 
The  latter  was  received  with  cordiality — the  former  po- 
litely, but  with  distance.  The  young  ladies  and  Sir  Henry 
bowed  distantly,  and  the  gentlemen  soon  drew  off  into  an- 
other part  of  the  room  ;  his  absence  alone  kept  Jane  from 
fainting.  The  handsome  figure  of  Egerton  standing  by 
the  side  of  Mary  Jarvis,  as  her  acknowledged  husband,  was 
near  proving  too  much  for  her  pride,  notwithstanding  all 
her  efforts  ;  and  he  looked  so  like  the  imaginary  being 
she  had  set  up  as  the  object  of  her  worship,  that  her 
heart  was  also  in  danger  of  rebellings. 

"  Positively,  Sir  Edward  and  my  lady,  both  Sir  Timo 
and  myself,  and,  I  dare  say,  Sir  Harry  and  Lady  Egerton 
too,  are  delighted  to  see  you  comfortably  at  Bath  among 
us.  Mrs.  Moseley,  I  wish  you  much  happiness  ;  Lady 
Chatterton  too.  I  suppose  your  ladyship  recollects  me 
now ;  I  am  Lady  Jarvis.  Mr.  Moseley,  I  regret,  for  your 
sake,  that  my  son,  Captain  Jarvis,  is  not  here  ;  you  were 
so  fond  of  each  other,  and  both  so  loved  your  guns." 

"Positively,  my  Lady  Jarvis, "said  Moseley,  dryly,  "my 
feelings  on  the  occasion  are  as  strong  as  your  own  ;  but  I 


2i8  PRECA  UTION: 

presume  the  captain  is  much  too  good  a  shot  for  me  b} 
this  time." 

"  Why,  yes  ;  he  improves  greatly  in  most  things  he  un- 
dertakes," rejoined  the  smiling  dame,  "  and  I  hope  he  will 
soon  learn,  like  you,  to  shoot  with  the  Narrows  of  Cupid. 
I  hope  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Moseley  is  well  ?  " 

Grace  bowed  mildly,  as  she  answered  to  the  interroga- 
tory, and  smiled  at  the  thought  of  Jarvis  put  in  competition 
with  her  husband  in  this  species  of  archery,  when  a  voice 
immediately  behind  where  they  sat  caught  the  ears  of  the 
whole  party  ;  all  it  said  was  : 

"  Harriet,  you  forgot  to  show  me  Marian's  letter." 

"Yes,  but  I  will  to-morrow,"  was  the  reply. 

It  was  the  tone  of  Denbigh.  Emily  almost  fell  from  her 
seat  as  it  first  reached  her,  and  the  eyes  of  all  but  herself 
were  immediately  turned  in  quest  of  the  speaker.  He  had 
approached  within  a  few  feet  of  them,  supporting  a  lady 
on  each  arm.  A  second  look  convinced  the  Moseleys  that 
they  were  mistaken.  It  was  not  Denbigh,  but  a  young 
man  whose  figure,  face,  and  air  resembled  him  strongly, 
and  whose  voice  possessed  the  same  soft,  melodious  tones 
which  had  distinguished  that  of  Denbigh.  This  party  seated 
themselves  within  a  very  short  distance  of  the  Moseleys, 
and  they  continued  their  conversation. 

"  You  heard  from  the  colonel  to-day,  too,  I  believe," 
continued  the  gentleman,  turning  to  the  lady  who  sat  next 
to  Emily. 

"  Yes,  he  is  a  very  punctual  correspondent  ;  I  hear  every 
other  day." 

"  How  is  his  uncle,  Laura  ?  "  inquired  her  female  com- 
panion. 

"  Rather  better  ;  but  I  will  thank  your  grace  to  find  the 
marquis  and  Miss  Howard." 

"  Bring  them  to  us,"  rejoined  the  other. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  former  lady,  with  a  laugh,  "  and  Eltring- 
ham  will  thank  you  too,  I  dare  say." 

In  an  instant  the  duke  returned,  accompanied  by  a 
gentleman  of  thirty  and  an  elderly  lady,  who  might  have 
been  safely  taken  for  fifty  without  offence  to  anybody  but 
herself. 

During  these  speeches  their  auditors  had  listened  with 
almost  breathless  interest.  Emily  had  stolen  a  glance 
which  satisfied  her  it  was  not  Denbigh  himself,  and  it 
greatly  relieved  her ;  but  was  startled  at  discovering  that 
she  was  actually  seated  by  the  side  of  his  young  and  lovely 


PR  EC  A  UTION>  219 

wife.  When  an  opportunity  offered,  she  dwelt  on  the 
amiable,  frank  countenance  of  her  rival  with  melancholy 
satisfaction  ;  at  least,  she  thought,  he  may  yet  be  happy, 
and  I  hope  penitent. 

It  was  a  mixture  of  love  and  gratitude  which  prompted 
this  wish,  both  sentiments  not  easily  got  rid  of  when  once 
ingrafted  into  our  better  feelings.  John  eyed  the  stran- 
gers with  a  displeasure  for  which  he  could  not  account  at 
once,  and  saw,  in  the  ancient  lady,  the  bridesmaid  Lord 
Henry  had  so  unwillingly  admitted  to  that  distinction. 

Lady  Jarvis  was  astounded  with  her  vicinity  to  so  much 
nobility,  and  she  drew  back  to  her  family  to  study  its 
movements  to  advantage  ;  while  Lady  Chatterton  sighed 
heavily,  as  she  contemplated  the  fine  figures  of  an  unmar- 
ried duke  and  marquis,  and  she  without  a  single  child  to 
dispose  of.  The  remainder  of  the  party  continued  to  view 
them  with  curiosity,  and  listened  with  interest  to  what 
they  said. 

Two  or  three  young  ladies  had  now  joined  the  strangers, 
attended  by  a  couple  of  gentlemen,  and  the  conversation 
became  general.  The  ladies  declined  dancing  entirely, 
but  appeared  willing  to  throw  away  an  hour  in  comments 
on  their  neighbors. 

"William,"  said  one  of  the  young  ladies,  "  there  is  your 
old  messmate,  Colonel  Egerton." 

"Yes,  I  observe  him,"  replied  her  brother  ;  "  I  see  him  ;  " 
but,  smiling  significantly,  he  continued,  "  we  are  mess- 
mates no  longer." 

"  He  is  a  sad  character,"  said  the  marquis,  with  a  shrug. 

"  William,  I  would  advise  you  to  be  cautious  of  his 
acquaintance." 

"I  thank  you,"  replied  Lord  William,  "but  I  believe  I 
understand  him  thoroughly." 

Jane  manifested  strong  emotion  during  these  remarks^ 
while  Sir  Edward  and  his  wife  averted  their  faces  from  a 
simultaneous  feeling  of  self-reproach.  Their  eyes  met, 
and  mutual  concessions  were  contained  in  the  glance  ;  yet 
their  feelings  were  unnoticed  by  their  companions,  for 
over  the  fulfilment  of  her  often-repeated  forewarnings  of 
neglect  and  duty  to  our  children,  Mrs.  Wilson  had  mourned 
in  sincerity,  but  she  had  forgotten  to  triumph. 

"  When  are  we  to  see  Pendennyss  ?  "  inquired  the  mar- 
quis ;  "  I  hope  he  will  be  here  with  George — I  have  a 
mind  to  beat  up  his  quarters  in  Wales  this  season — what 
say  you,  Derwent  ? " 


220  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

"  I  intend  it,  if  I  can  persuade  Lady  Harriet  to  quit  the 
gayeties  of  Bath  so  soon — what  sayjjw/,  sister — will  you  be 
in  readiness  to  attend  me  so  early  ? " 

This  question  was  asked  in  an  arch  tone,  and  drew  the 
eyes  of  her  friends  on  the  person  to  whom  it  was  addressed. 

"  I  am  ready  now,  Frederick,  if  you  wish  it,"  answered 
the  sister  hastily,  and  coloring  excessively  as  she  spoke. 

"  But  where  is  Chatterton  ?  I  thought  he  was  here — he 
had  a  sister  married  here  last  week,"  inquired  Lord  Wil- 
liam Stapleton,  addressing  no  one  in  particular. 

A  slight  movement  in  their  neighbors  attracted  the  at- 
tention of  the  party. 

"  What  a  lovely  young  woman,"  whispered  the  duke  to 
Lady  Laura,  "  your  neighbor  is  ! " 

The  lady  smiled  her  assent,  and  as  Emily  overheard  it, 
she  rose  with  glowing  cheeks,  and  proposed  a  walk  round 
the  room. 

Chatterton  soon  after  entered.  The  young  peer  had 
acknowledged  to  Emily,  that,  deprived  of  hope  as  he  had 
been  by  her  firm  refusal  of  his  hand,  his  efforts  had  been 
directed  to  the  suppression  of  a  passion  which  could  never 
be  successful  ;  but  his  esteem,  his  respect,  remained  in  full 
force.  He  did  not  touch  at  all  on  the  subject  of  Denbigh, 
and  she  supposed  that  he  thought  his  marriage  was  a  step 
that  required  justification. 

The  Moseleys  had  commenced  their  promenade  round 
the  room  as  Chatterton  came  in.  He  paid  his  compli- 
ments to  them  as  soon  as  he  entered,  and  walked  with 
their  party.  The  noble  visitors  followed  their  example, 
and  the  two  parties  met.  Chatterton  was  delighted  to  see 
them,  the  duke  was  particularly  fond  of  him  ;  and,  had 
one  been  present  of  sufficient  observation,  the  agitation  of 
his  sister,  Lady  Harriet  Denbigh,  would  have  accounted 
for  the  doubts  of  her  brother  as  respects  her  willingness  to 
leave  Bath. 

A  few  words  of  explanation  passed  ;  the  duke  and  his 
friends  appeared  to  urge  something  on  Chatterton,  who 
acted  as  their  ambassador,  and  the  consequence  was  an 
introduction  of  the  two  parties  to  each  other.  This  was 
conducted  with  the  ease  of  the  present  fashion — it  was 
general,  and  occurred,  as  it  were,  incidentally,  in  the  course 
of  the  evening. 

Both  Lady  Harriet  and  Lady  Laura  Denbigh  were  par- 
ticularly attentive  to  Emily.  They  took  their  seats  by 
her,  and  manifested  a  preference  for  her  conversation  that 


PRECAUTION.  221 

struck  Mrs.  Wilson  as  remarkable.  Could  it  be  that  the 
really  attractive  manners  and  beauty  of  her  niece  had 
caught  the  fancy  of  these  ladies,  or  was  there  a  deeper 
seated  cause  for  the  desire  to  draw  Emily  out,  that  both 
of  them  evinced  ?  Mrs.  Wilson  had  heard  a  rumor  that 
Chatterton  was  thought  attentive  to  Lady  Harriet,  and  the 
other  was  the  wife  of  Denbigh  ;  was  it  possible  the  quon- 
dam suitors  of  her  niece  had  related  to  their  present  favor- 
ites the  situation  they  had  stood  in  as  regarded  Emily  ?  It 
was  odd,  to  say  no  more  ;  and  the  widow  dwelt  on  the  in- 
nocent countenance  of  the  bride  with  pity  and  admiration. 
Emily  herself  was  not  a  little  abashed  at  the  notice  of  her 
new  acquaintances,  especially  Lady  Laura's  ;  but  as  their 
admiration  appeared  sincere,  as  well  as  their  desire  to  be 
on  terms  of  intimacy  with  the  Moseleys,  they  parted,  on 
the  whole,  mutually  pleased. 

The  conversation  several  times  was  embarrassing  to  the 
baronet's  family,  and  at  moments  distressingly  so  to  their 
daughters. 

At  the  close  of  the  evening  they  all  formed  one  group 
at  a  little  distance  from  the  rest  of  the  company,  and  in  a 
situation  to  command  a  view  of  it. 

"Who  is  that  vulgar-looking  woman,"  said  Lady  Sarah 
Stapleton,  "  seated  next,  to  Sir  Henry  Egerton,  brother  ? " 

"No  less  a  personage  than  my  Lady  Jarvis,"  replied  the 
marquis,  gravely,  "and  the  mother-in-law  of  Sir  Harry, 
and  the  wife  to  Sir  Timo —  ; "  this  was  said  with  a  look  of 
drollery  that  showed  the  marquis  was  a  bit  of  a  quiz. 

"  Married  !  "  cried  Lord  William,  "  mercy  on  the  woman 
who  is  Egerton's  wife.  He  is  the  greatest  latitudinarian 
among  the  ladies  of  any  man  in  England — nothing — no, 
nothing  would  tempt  me  to  let  such  a  man  marry  a  sister 
of  mine  ! " 

Ah,  thought  Mrs.  Wilson,  how  we  may  be  deceived  in 
character,  with  the  best  intentions,  after  all !  In  what  are 
the  open  vices  of  Egerton  worse  than  the  more  hidden 
ones  of  Denbigh? 

These  freely  expressed  opinions  on  the  character  of  Sir 
Henry  were  excessively  awkward  to  some  of  the  listeners, 
to  whom  they  were  connected  with  unpleasant  recollections 
of  duties  neglected  and  affections  thrown  away. 

Sir  Edward  Moseley  was  not  disposed  to  judge  his 
fellow-creatures  harshly  ;  and  it  was  as  much  owing  to  his 
philanthropy  as  to  his  indolence,  that  he  had  been  so  re- 
miss in  his  attention  to  the  associates  of  his  daughters. 


222  PRECA  UTION. 

But  the  veil  once  removed,  and  the  consequences  brought 
home  to  him  through  his  child,  no  man  was  more  alive  to 
the  necessity  of  caution  on  this  important  particular  ;  and 
Sir  Edward  formed  many  salutary  resolutions  for  the  gov- 
ernment of  his  future  conduct,  in  relation  to  those  whom 
an  experience  nearly  fatal  in  its  results  had  now  greatly 
qualified  to  take  care  of  themselves.  But  to  resume  our 
narrative — Lady  Laura  had  maintained  with  Emily  a  con- 
versation, which  was  enlivened  by  occasional  remarks  from 
the  rest  of  the  party,  in  the  course  of  which  the  nerves  as 
well  as  the  principles  of  Emily  were  put  to  a  severe  trial. 

"  My  brother  Henry,"  said  Lady  Laura,  "who  is  a  cap- 
tain in  the  navy,  once  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you,  Miss 
Moseley,  and  in  some  measure  made  me  acquainted  with 
you  before  we  met." 

"  I  dined  with  Lord  Henry  at  L ,  and  was  much  in- 
debted to  his  polite  attentions  in  an  excursion  on  the 
water,"  replied  Emily,  simply. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  his  attentions  were  exclusive,"  cried  the 
sister  ;  "  indeed,  he  told  us  that  nothing  but  want  of  time 
prevented  his  being  deeply  in  love — he  had  even  the 
audacity  to  tell  Denbigh  it  was  fortunate  for  me  he  had 
never  seen  you,  or  I  should  have  been  left  to  lead  apes." 

"And  I  suppose  you  believe  him  now,"  cried  Lord  Wil- 
liam, laughing,  as  he  bowed  to  Emily. 

His  sister  laughed  in  her  turn,  but  shook  her  head,  in 
the  confidence  of  conjugal  affection. 

"  It  is  all  conjecture,  for  the  colonel  said  he  had  never 
enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Miss  Moseley,  so  I  will 
not  boast  of  what  my  powers  might  have  done  ;  Miss 
Moseley,"  continued  Lady  Laura,  blushing  slightly  at  her 
inclination  to  talk  of  an  absent  husband,  so  lately  her 
lover,  "  I  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  presenting  Colonel 
Denbigh  to  you  soon." 

"  I  think,"  said  Emily,  with  a  strong  horror  of  deception, 
and  a  mighty  struggle  to  suppress  her  feelings,  "  Colonel 
Denbigh  was  mistaken  in  saying  that  we  had  never  met ; 
he  was  of  material  service  to  me  once,  and  I  owe  him  a 
debt  of  gratitude  that  I  only  wish  I  could  properly  repay." 

Lady  Laura  listened  in  surprise  ;  but  as  Emily  paused 
she  could  not' delicately,  as  his  wife,  remind  her  further  of 
the  obligation  by  asking  what  the  service  was,  and  hesi- 
tating a  moment,  continued — 

"  Henry  quite  made  you  the  subject  of  conversation 
among  us  •  Lord  Chatterton  too,  who  visited  us  for  a  day 


PR  EC  A  U7VOM  22$ 

was  equally  warm  in  his  eulogiums.  I  really  thought 
they  created  a  curiosity  in  the  duke  and  Pendennyss  to 
behold  their  idol." 

"A  curiosity  that  would  be  ill  rewarded  in  its  indul- 
gence," said  Emily,  abashed  by  the  personality  of  the 
discourse. 

"  So  says  the  modesty  of  Miss  Moseley,"  said  the  Duke 
of  Derwent,  in  the  peculiar  tone  which  distinguished  the 
softer  keys  of  Denbigh's  voice. 

Emily's  heart  beat  quick  as  she  heard  them,  and  she 
was  afterward  vexed  to  remember  with  how  much  pleasure 
she  had  listened  to  this  opinion  of  the  duke.  Was  it  the 
sentiment,  or  was  it  the  voice  ?  She,  however,  gathered 
strength  to  answer,  with  a  dignity  that  repressed  further 
praises  : — 

"  Your  grace  is  willing  to  divest  me  of  what  little  I 
possess." 

"Pendennyss  is  a  man  of  a  thousand,"  continued  Lady 
Laura,  with  the  privilege  of  a  married  woman.  "  I  do 
wish  he  would  join  us  at  Bath — is  there  no  hope,  duke  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  replied  his  grace:  "he  keeps  him- 
self immured  in  Wales  with  his  sister,  who  is  as  much  of  a 
hermit  as  he  is  himself." 

"  There  was  a  story  of  an  inamorata  in  private  some- 
where," cried  the  marquis  ;  "  why,  at  one  time  it  was  even 
said  he  was  privately  married  to  her." 

"  Scandal,  my  lord,"  said  the  duke,  gravely  :  "  Penden- 
nyss is  of  unexceptionable  morals,  and  the  lady  you  mean 
is  the  widow  of  Major  Fitzgerald,  whom  you  knew.  Pen- 
dennyss never  sees  her,  though  by  accident  he  was  once 
of  very  great  service  to  her." 

Mrs.  Wilson  breathed  freely  again,  as  she  heard  this  ex- 
planation, and  thought  if  the  marquis  knew  all  how  differ- 
ently would  he  judge  Pendennyss,  as  well  as  others. 

"  Oh  !  I  have  the  highest  opinion  of  Lord  Pendennyss," 
cried  the  marquis. 

The  Moseleys  were  not  sorry  that  the  usual  hour  of  re- 
tiring put  an  end  to  the  conversation  and  their  embarrass- 
ment. 


PRECA  UTION. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

DURING  the  succeeding  fortnight,  the  intercourse  between 
the  Moseleys  and  their  new  acquaintances  increased  daily. 
It  was  rather  awkward  at  first  on  the  part  of  Emily,  and 
her  beating  pulse  and  changing  color  too  often  showed  the 
alarm  of  feelings  not  yet  overcome,  when  any  allusions 
were  made  to  the  absent  husband  of  one  of  the  ladies. 
Still,  as  her  parents  encouraged  the  acquaintance,  and  her 
aunt  thought  the  best  way  to  get  rid  of  the  remaining 
weakness  with  respect  to  Denbigh  was  not  to  shrink  from 
even  an  interview  with  the  gentleman  himself,  Emily  suc- 
ceeded in  conquering  her  reluctance  ;  and  as  the  high 
opinion  entertained  by  Lady  Laura  of  her  husband  was 
expressed  in  a  thousand  artless  ways,  an  interest  was 
created  in  her  that  promised  in  time  to  weaken  if  not 
destroy  the  impression  that  had  been  made  by  Denbigh 
himself. 

On  the  other  hand,  Egerton  carefully  avoided  all  colli- 
sion with  the  Moseleys.  Once,  indeed,  he  endeavored  to 
renew  his  acquaintance  with  John,  but  a  haughty  repulse 
almost  produced  a  quarrel. 

What  representations  Egerton  had  thought  proper  to 
make  to  his  wife,  we  are  unable  to  say,  but  she  appeared 
to  resent  something,  as  she  never  approached  the  dwelling 
or  persons  of  her  quondam  associates,  although  in  her 
heart  she  was  dying  to  be  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  their 
titled  friends.  Her  incorrigible  mother  was  restrained  by 
no  such  or  any  other  consideration,  and  contrived  to  fasten 
on  the  dowager  and  Lady  Harriet  a  kind  of  bowing  ac- 
quaintance, which  she  made  great  use  of  at  the  rooms. 

The  duke  sought  out  the  society  of  Emily  wherever  he 
could  obtain  it ;  and  Mrs.  Wilson  thought  her  niece  ad- 
mitted his  approaches  with  less  reluctance  than  that  of 
any  other  of  the  gentlemen  around  her.  At  first  she  was 
surprised,  but  a  closer  observation  betrayed  to  her  the 
latent  cause. 

Derwent  resembled  Denbigh  greatly  in  person  and  voice, 
although  there  were  distinctions  easily  to  be  made  on  an 
acquaintance.  The  duke  had  an  air  of  command  and 
hauteur  that  was  never  to  be  seen  in  his  cousin.  But  his 
admiration  of  Emily  he  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  ;  and, 
as  he  ever  addressed  her  in  the  respectful  language  and 


PRECAUTION.  22$ 

identical  voice  of  Denbigh,  the  observant  widow  easily  per- 
ceived that  it  was  the  remains  of  her  attachment  to  the 
one  that  induced  her  niece  to  listen,  with  such  evident 
pleasure,  to  the  conversation  of  the  other. 

The  Duke  of  Derwent  wanted  many  of  the  indispensable 
requisites  of  a  husband,  in  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Wilson  ;  yet, 
as  she  thought  Emily  out  of  all  danger  at  the  present  of 
any  new  attachment,  she  admitted  the  association  under 
no  other  restraint  than  the  uniform  propriety  of  all  that 
Emily  said  or  did. 

"  Your  niece  will  one  day  be  a  duchess,  Mrs.  Wilson," 
whispered  Lady  Laura,  as  Derwent  and  Emily  were  run- 
ning over  a  new  poem  one  morning,  in  the  lodgings  of 
Sir  Edward  ;  the  former  reading  a  fine  extract  aloud  so 
strikingly  in  the  air  and  voice  of  Denbigh,  as  to  call  all 
the  animation  of  the  unconscious  Emily  into  her  expres- 
sive face. 

Mrs.  Wilson  sighed  as  she  reflected  on  the  strength  of 
those  feelings  which  even  principles  and  testimony  had 
not  been  able  wholly  to  subdue,  as  she  answered — 

"  Not  of  Derwent,  I  believe.  But  how  wonderfully  the 
duke  resembles  your  husband  at  times,"  she  added,  entirely 
thrown  off  her  guard. 

Lady  Laura  was  evidently  surprised. 

"  Yes,  at  times  he  does  ;  they  are  brothers'  children,  you 
know:  the  voice  in  all  that  connection  is  remarkable. 
Pendennyss,  though  a  degree  further  off  in  blood,  possesses 
it  ;  and  Lady  Harriet,  you  perceive,  has  the  same  charac- 
teristic. There  has  been  some  syren  in  the  family,  in  days 
past." 

Sir  Edward  and  Lady  Moseley  saw  the  attention  of  the 
duke  with  the  greatest  pleasure.  Though  not  slaves  to 
the  ambition  of  wealth  and  rank,  they  were  certainly  no 
objection  in  their  eyes  ;  and  a  proper  suitor  Lady  Moseley 
thought  the  most  probable  means  of  driving  the  recollec- 
tion of  Denbigh  from  the  mind  of  her  daughter.  The 
latter  consideration  had  great  weight  in  inducing  her  to 
cultivate  an  acquaintance  so  embarrassing  on  many  ac- 
counts. 

The  colonel,  however,  wrote  to  his  wife  the  impossibility 
of  his  quitting  his  uncle  while  he  continued  so  unwell,  and 
it  was  settled  that  the  bride  should  join  him,  under  the  es- 
cort of  Lord  William. 

The  same  tenderness  distinguished  Denbigh  on  this 
occasion  that  had  appeared  so  lovely  when  exercised  to 


226  PRRCA  UT1ON. 

his  dying  father.  Yet,  thought  Mrs.  Wilson,  how  insuffi- 
cient are  good  feelings  to  effect  what  can  only  be  the  re- 
sult of  good  principles. 

Caroline  Harris  was  frequently  of  the  parties  of  pleas- 
ure, walks,  rides,  and  dinners,  which  the  Moseleys  were 
compelled  to  join  in  ;  and  as  the  Marquis  of  Eltringham 
had  given  her  one  day  some  little  encouragement,  she  de- 
termined to  make  an  expiring  effort  at  the  peerage  before 
she  condescended  to  enter  into  an  examination  of  the 
qualities  of  Captain  Jarvis,  who,  his  mother  had  persuaded 
her,  was  an  Apollo,  that  had  great  hopes  of  being  one  day 
a  lord,  as  both  the  captain  and  herself  had  commenced 
laying  up  a  certain  sum  quarterly,  for  the  purpose  of  buy- 
ing a  title  hereafter — an  ingenious  expedient  of  Jarvis's 
to  get  into  his  hands  a  portion  of  the  allowance  of  his 
mother. 

Eltringham  was  strongly  addicted  to  the  ridiculous,  and 
without  committing  himself  in  the  least,  drew  the  lady  out 
on  divers  occasions,  for  the  amusememt  of  himself  and 
the  duke — who  enjoyed,  without  practising,  that  species 
of  joke. 

The  collisions  bet\veen  ill-concealed  art  and  as  ill-con- 
cealed irony  had  been  practised  with  impunity  by  the  Mar- 
quis for  a  fortnight,  and  the  lady's  imagination  began  to 
revel  in  the  delights  of  a  triumph,  when  a  really  respect- 
able offer  was  made  to  Miss  Harris  by  a  neighbor  of  her 
father's  in  the  country — one  she  would  rejoice  to  have 
received  a  few  days  before,  but  which,  in  consequence  of 
hopes  created  by  the  following  occurrence,  she  haughtily 
rejected. 

It  was  at  the  lodgings  of  the  baronet  that  Lady  Laura 
exclaimed  one  day, 

"  Marriage  is  a  lottery,  certainly,  and  neither  Sir  Henry 
nor  Lady  Egerton  appears  to  have  drawn  a  prize." 

Here  Jane  stole  from  the  room. 

"Never,  sister,"  cried  the  marquis.  "  I  will  deny  that. 
Any  man  can  select  a  prize  from  your  sex,  if  he  only  knows 
his  own  taste." 

"  Taste  is  a  poor  criterion,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
son, gravely,  "  on  which  to  found  matrimonial  felicity." 

"  To  what  would  you  refer  the  decision,  my  dear 
madam  ?"  inquired  the  Lady  Laura. 

"Judgment." 

Lady  Laura  shook  her  head  doubtingly. 

"  You  remind  me  so  much  of  Lord  Pendennyss  !    Every- 


PRECA  UTIOtf.  227 

thing  he  wishes  to  bring  under  the  subject  of  judgment 
and  principles." 

"And  is  he  wrong,  Lady  Laura?"  asked  Mrs.  Wilson, 
pleased  to  find  such  correct  views  existed  in  one  of  whom 
she  thought  so  highly. 

"  Not  wrong,  my  dear  madam,  only  impracticable. 
What  do  you  think,  marquis,  of  choosing  a  wife  in  con- 
formity to  your  principles,  and  without  consulting  your 
tastes  ? " 

Mrs.  Wilson  shook  her  head  with  a  laugh,  and  disclaimed 
any  such  statement  of  the  case :  but  the  marquis,  who  dis- 
liked one  of  John's  didactic  conversations  very  much,  gay- 
ly  interrupted  her  by  saying — 

"Oh  !  taste  is  everything  with  me.'  The  woman  of  my 
heart  against  the  world,  if  she  suits  my  fancy,  and  satisfies 
my  judgment." 

"And  what  may  this  fancy  of  your  lordship  be  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Wilson,  willing  to  gratify  the  trifling.  "What  kind 
of  a  woman  do  you  mean  to  choose  ?  How  tall,  for  in- 
stance ?" 

"Why,  madam,"  cried  the  marquis,  rather  unprepared 
for  such  a  catechism,  and  looking  around  him  until  the 
outstretched  neck  and  eager  attention  of  Caroline  Harris 
caught  his  eye,  when  he  added  with  an  air  of  great  sim- 
plicity— "  about  the  height  of  Miss  Harris." 

"How  old?"  asked  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  a  smile. 

"Not  too  young,  madam,  certainly.  I  am  thirty-two — 
my  wife  must  be  five  or  six  and  twenty.  Am  I  old  enough, 
do  you  think,  Derwent  ? "  he  added  in  a  whisper  to  the  duke. 

"Within  ten  years,"  was  the  reply. 

Mrs.  Wilson  continued — 

"  She  must  read  and  write,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Why,  faith,"  said  the  marquis,  "  I  am  not  fond  of  a 
bookish  sort  of  woman,  and  least  of  all  a  scholar." 

"You  had  better  take  Miss  Howard,"  whispered  his 
brother.  "She  is  old  enough — never  reads — and  is  just 
the  height." 

"No,  no,  Will,"  rejoined  the  brother;  "rather  too  old 
that.  Now  I  admire  a  woman  who  has  confidence  in 
herself.  One  that  understands  the  proprieties  of  life,  and 
has,  if  possible,  been  at  the  head  of  an  establishment  be- 
fore she  is  to -take  charge  of  mine." 

The  delighted  Caroline  wriggled  about  in  her  chair,  and, 
unable  to  contain  herself  longer,  inquired  : 

"Noble  blood,  of  course,  you  would  require  my  lord?" 


228  PRECAUTION-. 

"  Why,  no  !  I  rather  think  the  best  wives  are  to  be  found 
in  a  medium.  I  would  wish  to  elevate  my  wife  myself.  A 
baronet's  daughter,  for  instance." 

Here  Lady  Jarvis,  who  had  entered  during  the  dialogue 
and  caught  a  clew  to  the  topic  they  were  engaged  in,  drew 
near,  and  ventured  to  ask  if  he  thought  a  simple  knight 
too  low. 

The  marquis,  who  did  not  expect  such  an  attack,  was  a 
little  at  a  loss  for  an  answer  ;  but  recovering  himself,  an- 
swered gravely,  under  the  apprehension  of  another  design 
on  his  person,  that  "  he  did  think  that  would  be  forgetting 
his  duty  to  his  descendants." 

Lady  Jarvis  sighed,  and  fell  back  in  disappointment ; 
while  Miss  Harris  turning  to  the  nobleman,  in  a  soft  voice 
desired  him  to  ring  for  her  carriage.  As  he  handed  her 
down  she  ventured  to  inquire  if  his  lordship  had  ever  met 
with  such  a  woman  as  he  described. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Harris,"  he  whispered,  as  he  handed  her  into 
the  coach,  "  how  can  you  ask  me  such  a  question  ?  You  are 
very  cruel.  Drive  on,  coachman." 

"How,  cruel,  my  lord?"  said  Miss  Harris,  eagerly. 
"  Stop,  John.  How,  cruel,  my  lord  ?  "  and  she  stretched 
her  neck  out  of  the  window  as  the  marquis,  kissing  his 
hand  to  her,  ordered  the  man  to  proceed. 

"  Don't  you  hear  your  lady,  sir?" 

Lady  Jarvis  had  followed  them  down,  also  with  a  view 
to  catch  anything  which  might  be  said,  having  apologized 
for  her  hasty  visit ;  and  as  the  marquis  handed  her  politely 
into  her  carriage,  she  also  begged  "  he  would  favor  Sir 
Timo  and  Sir  Henry  with  a  call  ;"  which  being  promised, 
Eltringham  returned  to  the  room. 

"When  am  I  to  salute  a  Marchioness  of  Eltringham?" 
cried  Lady  Laura  to  her  brother  ;  "one  on  the  new  stand- 
ard set  up  by  your  lordship  ?" 

"Whenever  Miss  Harris  can  make  up  her  mind  to  the 
sacrifice,"  replied  the  brother  very  gravely.  "  Ah  me  !  how 
very  considerate  some  of  your  sex  are,  for  the  modesty  of 
ours." 

"  I  wish  you  joy  with  all  my  heart,  my  lord  marquis," 
exclaimed  John  Moseley.  "  I  was  once  favored  with  the 
notice  of  that  same  lady  for  a  week  or  two,  but  a  viscount 
saved  me  from  capture." 

"  I  really  think,  Moseley,"  said  the  duke,  innocently,  but 
speaking  with  animation,  "  an  intriguing  daughter  worse 
than  a  managing  mother." 


PR  EC  A  UriON-.  229 

John's  gravity  for  a  moment  vanished,  as  he  replied  in 
a  lowered  key. 

"Oh,  much  worse." 

Grace's  heart  was  in  her  throat  until,  by  stealing  a  glance 
at  her  husband,  she  saw  the  cloud  passing  over  his  fine 
brow  ;  and  happening  to  catch  her  affectionate  smile,  his 
face  was  at  once  lighted  into  a  look  of  pleasantry. 

"  I  would  advise  caution,  my  lord.  Caroline  Harris  has 
the  advantage  of  experience  in  her  trade,  and  was  expert 
from  the  first." 

"John  —  John,"  said  Sir  Edward  with  warmth,  "Sir 
William  is  my  friend,  and  his  daughter  must  be  re- 
spected." 

"  Then,  baronet,"  cried  the  marquis,  "  she  has  one  rec- 
ommendation I  was  ignorant  of,  and  as  such  I  am  silent  ; 
but  ought  not  Sir  William  to  teach  his  daughter  to  re- 
spect herself  ?  I  view  these  husband-hunting  ladies  as 
pirates  on  the  ocean  of  love,  and  lawful  objects  for  any 
roving  cruiser  like  myself  to  fire  at.  At  one  time  I  was 
simple  enough  to  retire  as  they  advanced,  but  you  know, 
madam,"  turning  to  Mrs.  Wilson  with  a  droll  look,  "flight 
only  encourages  pursuit,  so  I  now  give  battle  in  self-de- 
fence." 

"And  I  hope  successfully,  my  lord,"  observed  the  lady. 
"  Miss  Harris,  brother,  does  appear  to  have  grown  desper- 
ate in  her  attacks,  which  were  formerly  much  more  masked 
than  at  present.  I  believe  it  is  generally  the  case,  when  a 
young  woman  throws  aside  the  delicacy  and  feelings  which 
ought  to  be  the  characteristics  of  her  sex,  and  which 
teach  her  studiously  to  conceal  her  admiration,  that  she 
either  becomes  in  time  cynical  and  disagreeable  to  all 
around  her  from  disappointment,  or  persevering  in  her 
efforts,  as  it  were,  runs  a  muck  for  a  husband.  Now  in 
justice  to  the  gentlemen  I  must  say,  baronet,  there  are 
strong  symptoms  of  the  Malay  about  Caroline  Harris." 

"A  muck,  a  muck,"  cried  the  marquis,  as,  in  obedience 
to  the  signal  of  his  sister,  he  rose  to  withdraw. 

Jane  had  retired  to  her  own  room  in  a  mortification  of 
spirit  she  could  ill  conceal  during  this  conversation,  and 
she  felt  a  degree  of  humiliation  which  almost  drove  her  to 
the  desperate  resolution  of  hiding  herself  forever  from  the 
world.  The  man  she  had  so  fondly  enshrined  in  her  heart 
proving  to  be  so  notoriously  unworthy  as  to  be  the  sub- 
ject of  unreserved  censure  in  general  company,  was  a  re- 
proach to  her  delicacy,  her  observation,  her  judgment,  that 


230  rRECA  UT10N-. 

was  the  more  severe  from  being  true  ;  and  she  wept  in 
bitterness  over  her  fallen  happiness. 

Emily  had  noticed  the  movement  of  Jane,  and  waited 
anxiously  for  the  departure  of  the  visitors  to  hasten  to  her 
room.  She  knocked  two  or  three  times  before  her  sister 
replied  to  her  request  for  admittance. 

"Jane,  my  dear  Jane,"  said  Emily,  soothingly,  "  will  you 
not  admit  me  ? " 

Jane  could  not  resist  any  longer  the  affection  of  her  sis- 
ter, and  the  door  was  opened  ;  but  as  Emily  endeavored 
to  take  her  hand  she  drew  back  coldly,  and  cried — • 

"  I  wonder  you,  who  are  so  happy,  will  leave  the  gay 
scene  below  for  the  society  of  an  humbled  wretch  like 
me  ; "  and  overcome  with  the  violence  of  her  emotion,  she 
burst  into  tears. 

"  Happy !  "  repeated  Emily,  in  a  tone  of  anguish, 
"  happy,  did  you  say,  Jane  ?  Oh,  little  do  you  know  my 
sufferings,  or  you  would  never  speak  so  cruelly  ! " 

Jane,  in  her  turn,  surprised  at  the  strength  of  Emily's 
language,  considered  her  weeping  sister  with  commisera- 
tion ;  and  then,  her  thoughts  recurring  to  her  own  case, 
she  continued  with  energy — 

"  Yes,  Emily,  happy  ;  for  whatever  may  have  been  the 
reason  of  Denbigh's  conduct,  he  is  respected  ;  and  if  you 
do  or  did  love  him,  he  was  worthy  of  it.  But  I,"  said  Jane, 
wildly,  "threw  away  my  affections  on  a  wretch — a  mere  im- 
postor— and  I  am  miserable  forever." 

"No,  dear  Jane,"  rejoined  Emily,  having  recovered  her 
self-possession,  "  not  miserable — nor  forever.  You  have 
many,  very  many  sources  of  happiness  yet  within  your 
reach,  even  in  this  world.  I — I  do  think,  even  our  strong- 
est attachments  may  be  overcome  by  energy  and  a  sense 
of  duty.  And  oh  !  how  I  wish»I  could  see  you  make  the 
effort." 

For  a  moment  the  voice  of  the  youthful  moralist  had 
failed  her  ;  but  anxiety  in  behalf  of  her  sister  overcame 
her  feelings,  and  she  ended  the  sentence  with  earnestness. 

"  Emily,"  said  Jane,  with  obstinacy,  and  yet  in  tears, 
"  you  don't  know  what  blighted  affections  are.  To  endure 
the  scorn  of  the  world,  and  see  the  man  you  once  thought 
near  being  your  husband  married  to  another,  who  is  show- 
ing herself  in  triumph  before  you  wherever  you  go  !  " 

"  Hear  me,  Jane,  before  you  reproach  me  further,  and 
then  judge  between  us."  Emily  paused  a  moment  to  ac- 
quire nerve  to  proceed,  and  then  related  to  her  astonished 


.PRECAUTION.  231 

sister  the  little  history  of  her  own  disappointments.  She 
did  not  affect  to  conceal  her  attachment  for  Denbigh.  With 
glowing  cheeks  she  acknowledged  that  she  found  a  neces- 
sity for  all  her  efforts  to  keep  her  rebellious  feelings  yet  in 
subjection  ;  and  as  she  recounted  generally  his  conduct  to 
Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  she  concluded  by  saying,  "  But,  Jane,  I 
can  see  enough  to  call  forth  my  gratitude  ;  and  although 
with  yourself,  I  feel  at  this  moment  as  if  my  affections 
were  sealed  for  ever,  I  wish  to  make  no  hasty  resolutions, 
nor  act  in  any  manner  as  if  I  were  unworthy  of  the  lot 
Providence  has  assigned  me." 

"  Unworthy  ?  no  ! — you  have  no  reasons  for  self-re- 
proach. If  Mr.  Denbigh  has  had  the  art  to  conceal  his 
crimes  from  you,  he  did  it  to  the  rest  of  the  world  also, 
and  has  married  a  woman  of  rank  and  character.  But 
how  differently  are  we  situated  !  Emily — I — I  have  no 
such  consolation." 

"  You  have  the  consolation,  my  sister,  of  knowing  there 
is  an  interest  made  for  you  where  we  all  require  it  most, 
and  it  is  there  I  endeavor  to  seek  my  support,"  said  Emily, 
in  a  low  and  humble  tone.  "  A  review  of  our  own  errors 
takes  away  the  keenness  of  our  perception  of  the  wrongs 
done  us,  and  by  placing  us  in  charity  with  the  rest  of  the 
world,  disposes  us  to  enjoy  calmly  the  blessings  within  our 
reach.  Besides,  Jane,  we  have  parents  whose  happiness 
is  locked  up  in  that  of  their  children,  and  we  should — we 
must  overcome  the  feelings  which  disqualify  us  for  our 
common  duties,  on  their  account." 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Jane,  "  how  can  I  move  about  in  the  world, 
while  I  know  the  eyes  of  all  are  on  me,  in  curiosity  to  dis- 
cover how  I  bear  my  disappointments.  But  you,  Emily, 
are  unsuspected.  It  is  easy  for  you  to  affect  a  gayety  you 
do  not  feel." 

"  I  neither  affect  nor  feel  any  gayety,"  said  her  sister, 
mildly.  "  But  are  there  not  the  eyes  of  One  on  us,  of  in- 
finitely more  power  to  punish  or  reward  than  what  may  be 
found  in  the  opinions  of  the  world  ?  Have  we  no  duties  ? 
For  what  is  our  wealth,  our  knowledge,  our  time  given 
us,  but  to  improve  for  our  own  and  for  the  eternal  welfare 
of  those  around  us  ?  Come  then,  my  sister,  we  have  both 
been  deceived — let  us  endeavor  not  to  be  culpable." 

"  I  wish,  from  my  soul,  we  could  leave  Bath,"  cried 
Jane.  "  The  place,  the  people  are  hateful  to  me  !" 

"  Jane,"  said  Emily,  "  rather  say  you  hate  their  vices, 
and  wish  for  their  amendment ;  but  do  not  indiscriminately 


232  PRECA  UTION. 

condemn  a  whole  community  for  the  wrongs  you  have 
sustained  from  one  of  its  members." 

Jane  allowed  herself  to  be  consoled,  though  by  no  means 
convinced,  by  this  effort  of  her  sister  ;  and  they  both  found 
a  relief  by  thus  unburdening  their  hearts  to  each  other, 
that  in  future  brought  them  more  nearly  together,  and  was 
of  mutual  assistance  in  supporting  them  in  the  promiscuous 
circles  in  which  they  were  obliged  to  mix. 

With  all  her  fortitude  and  principle,  one  of  the  last 
things  Emily  would  have  desired  was  an  interview  with 
Denbigh  ;  and  she  was  happily  relieved  from  the  present 
danger  of  it  by  the  departure  of  Lady  Laura  and  her 
brother,  to  go  to  the  residence  of  the  colonel's  sick 
uncle. 

Both  Mrs.  Wilson  and  Emily  suspected  that  a  dread  of 
meeting  them  had  detained  him  from  his  intended  journey 
to  Bath  ;  and  neither  was  sorry  to  perceive  what  they  con- 
sidered as  latent  signs  of  grace — a  grace  which  Egerton 
appeared  entirely  to  be  without. 

"  He  may  yet  see  his  errors,  and  make  a  kind  and  affec- 
tionate husband,"  thought  Emily  ;  and  then,  as  the  image 
of  Denbigh  rose  in  her  imagination,  surrounded  with  tlie 
domestic  virtues,  she  roused  herself  from  the  dangerous 
reflection  to  the  exercise  of  the  duties  in  which  she  found 
a  refuge  from  unpardonable  wishes. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

NOTHING  material  occurred  for  a  fortnight  after  the  de- 
parture of  Lady  Laura,  the  Moseleys  entering  soberly  into 
the  amusements  of  the  place,  and  Derwent  and  Chatterton 
becoming  more  pointed  every  day  in  their  attentions — the 
one  to  Emily,  and  the  other  to  Lady  Harriet  ;  when  the 
dowager  received  a  pressing  entreaty  from  Catherine  to 
hasten  to  her  at  Lisbon,  where  her  husband  had  taken  up 
his  abode  for  a  time,  after  much  doubt  and  indecision  as 
to  his  place  of  residence.  Lady  Herriefield  stated  gener- 
ally in  her  letter,  that  she  was  miserable,  and  that  without 
the  support  of  her  mother  she  could  not  exist  under  the 
present  grievances  ;  but  what  was  the  cause  of  those  griev- 
ances, or  what  grounds  she  had  for  her  misery,  she  left 
unexplained. 

Lady  Chatterton  was  not  wanting  in   maternal  regardf 


PRECA  UTION.  233 

and  she  promptly  determined  to  proceed  to  Portugal  in  the 
next  packet.  John  felt  inclined  for  a  little  excursion  with 
his  bride  ;  and  out  of  compassion  to  the  baron,  who  was  in 
a  dilemma  between  his  duty  and  his  love  (for  Lady  Harriet 
about  that  time  was  particularly  attractive),  he  offered  his 
services. 

Chatterton  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded  by  the  goocU 
natured  John,  that  his  mother  could  safely  cross  the  ocean 
under  the  protection  of  the  latter.  Accordingly,  at  the 
end  of  the  before  mentioned  fortnight,  the  dowrager,  John, 
Grace,  and  Jane,  commenced  their  journey  to  Falmouth. 

Jane  had  offered  to  accompany  Grace,  as  a  companion 
in  her  return  (it  being  expected  Lady  Chatterton  would 
remain  in  the  country  with  her  daughter),  and  her  parents 
appreciating  her  motives,  permitted  the  excursion,  with  a 
hope  it  would  draw  her  thoughts  from  past  events. 

Although  Grace  shed  a  few  tears  at  parting  with  Emily 
and  her  friends,  it  was  impossible  for  Mrs.  Moseley  to  be 
long  unhappy,  with  the  face  of  John  smiling  by  her  side  ; 
and  they  pursued  their  route  uninterruptedly.  In  due 
season  they  reached  the  port  of  embarkation. 

The  following  morning  the  packet  got  under  weigh,  and 
a  favorable  breeze  soon  wafted  them  out  of  sight  of  their 
native  shores.  The  ladies  were  too  much  indisposed  the 
first  day  to  appear  on  the  deck  ;  but  the  weather  becom- 
ing calm  and  the  sea  smooth,  Grace  and  Jane  ventured 
out  of  the  confinement  of  their  state-rooms,  to  respire  the 
fresh  air  above. 

There  were  but  few  passengers,  and  those  chiefly  ladies — 
the  wives  of  officers  on  foreign  stations,  on  their  way  to 
join  their  husbands.  As  these  had  been  accustomed  to 
moving  in  the  world,  their  disposition  to  accommodate 
soon  removed  the  awkwardness  of  a  first  meeting,  and  our 
travellers  began  to  be  at  home  in  their  novel  situation. 

While  Grace  stood  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  husband, 
and  clinging  to  his  support,  both  from  affection  and  a 
dread  of  the  motion  of  the  vessel,  Jane  ventured  with  one  of 
the  ladies  to  attempt  to  walk  round  the  deck  of  the  ship. 
Unaccustomed  to  such  an  uncertain  foothold,  the  walkers 
were  prevented  falling  by  the  kind  interposition  of  a 
gentleman,  who  for  the  first  time  had  shown  himself 
among  them  at  that  moment.  The  accident,  and  their 
situation,  led  to  a  conversation  which  was  renewed  at  dif- 
ferent times  during  their  passage,  and  in  some  measure 
created  an  intimacy  between  our  party  and  the  stranger. 


234  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

He  was  addressed  by  the  commander  of  the  vessel  as  Mr 
Harland  ;  and  Lady  Chatterton  exercised  her  ingenuity  in 
the  investigation  of  his  history,  by  which  she  made  the 
following  discovery : 

The  Rev.  and  Hon.  Mr.  Harland  was  the  younger  son 
of  an  Irish  earl,  who  had  early  embraced  his  sacred  pro- 
fession in  that  church,  in  which  he  held  a  valuable  living 
in  the  gift  of  his  father's  family.  His  father  was  yet  alive, 
and  then  at  Lisbon  with  his  mother  and  sister,  in  attend- 
ance on  his  elder  brother  who  had  been  sent  there  in  a 
deep  decline  a  couple  of  months  before.  It  had  been  the 
wish  of  his  parents  to  have  taken  all  their  children  with 
them  ;  but  a  sense  of  duty  had  kept  the  young  clergyman 
in  the  exercise  of  his  holy  office,  until  a  request  of  his 
dying  brother,  and  the  directions  of  his  father,  caused  him 
to  hasten  abroad  to  witness  the  decease  of  the  one,  and  to 
afford  all  the  solace  within  his  power  to  the  others. 

It  may  be  easily  imagined  that  the  discovery  of  the  rank 
of  their  accidental  acquaintance,  with  the  almost  cer- 
tainty that  existed  of  his  being  the  heir  of  his  father's 
honors,  in  no  degree  impaired  his  consequence  in  the  eyes 
of  the  dowager  ;  and  it  is  certain,  his  visible  anxiety  and 
depressed  spirits,  his  unaffected  piety,  and  disinterested 
hopes  for  his  brother's  recovery,  no  less  elevated  him  in 
the  opinions  of  her  companions. 

There  was  at  the  moment,  a  kind  of  sympathy  between 
Harland  and  Jane,  notwithstanding  the  melancholy  which 
gave  rise  to  it  proceeding  from  such  very  different  causes; 
and  as  the  lady,  although  with  diminished  bloom,  retained 
all  her  personal  charms,  rather  heightened  than  otherwise 
by  the  softness  of  low  spirits,  the  young  clergyman  some- 
times relieved  his  apprehensions  of  his  brother's  death 
by  admitting  the  image  of  Jane  among  his  more  melan- 
choly reflections. 

The  voyage  was  tedious,  and  some  time  before  it  wras 
ended  the  dowager  had  given  Grace  an  intimation  of  the 
probability  there  was  of  Jane's  becoming,  at  some  future 
day,  a  countess.  Grace  sincerely  hoped  that  whatever  she 
became  she  would  be  as  happy  as  she  thought  all  allied  to 
John  deserved  to  be. 

They  entered  the  bay  of  Lisbon  early  in  the  morning  ; 
and  as  the  ship  had  been  expected  for  some  days,  a  boat 
came  alongside  with  a  note  for  Mr.  Harland,  before  they 
had  anchored.  It  apprised  him  of  the  death  of  his  brother. 
The  young  man  threw  himself  precipitately  into  it,  and 


PRECA  UTION.  235 

was  soon  employed  in  one  of  the  loveliest  offices  of  his  vo- 
cation, that  of  healing  the  wounds  of  the  afflicted. 

Lady  Herriefield  received  her  mother  in  a  sort  of  sullen 
satisfaction,  and  her  companions  with  an  awkwardness  she 
could  ill  conceal.  It  required  no  great  observation  in  the 
travellers  to  discover,  that  their  arrival  was  entirely  unex- 
pected by  the  viscount,  if  it  were  not  equally  disagreeable; 
indeed,  one  day's  residence  under  his  roof  assured  them  all 
that  no  great  degree  of  domestic  felicity  was  an  inmate 
of  the  dwelling. 

From  the  moment  Lord  Herriefield  became  suspicious 
that  he  had  been  the  dupe  of  the  management  of  Kate  and 
her  mother,  he  viewed  every  act  of  his  wife  with  a  preju- 
diced eye.  It  was  easy,  with  his  knowledge  of  human  nat- 
ure, to  detect  her  selfishness  and  worldly-mindedness  ;  for 
as  these  were  faults  she  was  unconscious  of  possessing,  so 
she  was  unguarded  in  her  exposure  of  them.  But  her  de- 
signs, in  a  matrimonial  point  of  view,  having  ended  with 
her  marriage,  had  the  viscount  treated  her  with  any  of  the 
courtesies  due  her  sex  and  station,  she  might,  with  her  dis- 
position, have  been  contented  in  the  enjoyment  of  rank 
and  in  the  possession  of  wealth  ;  but  their  more  private 
hours  were  invariably  rendered  unpleasant,  by  the  over- 
flowings of  her  husband's  resentment  at  having  been  de- 
ceived in  his  judgment  of  the  female  sex. 

There  is  no  point  upon  which  men  are  more  tender  than 
their  privilege  of  suiting  themselves  in  a  partner  for  life, 
although  many  of  both  sexes  are  influenced  in  this  impor- 
tant selection  more  by  the  wishes  and  whims  of  others 
than  is  usually  suspected  ;  yetr,  as  all  imagine  what  is  the 
result  of  contrivance  and  management  is  the  election  of 
free  will  and  taste,  so  long  as  they  are  ignorant,  they  are 
contented.  Lord  Herriefield  wanted  this  bliss  of  igno- 
rance ;  and,  with  contempt  for  his  wife,  was  mingled  anger 
at  his  own  want  of  foresight. 

Very  few  people  can  tamely  submit  to  self-reproach  ; 
and  as  the  cause  of  this  irritated  state  of  mind  was  both 
not  only  constantly  present,  but  completely  within  his 
power,  the  viscount  seemed  determined  to  give  her  as  little 
reason  to  exult  in  the  success  of  her  plans  as  possible. 
Jealous  he  was,  from  temperament,  from  bad  associations, 
and  a  want  of  confidence  in  the  principles  of  his  wife,  the 
freedom  of  foreign  manners  having  an  additional  tenden- 
cy to  excite  this  baneful  passion  to  an  unusual  degree. 
Abridged  in  her  pleasures,  reproached  with  motives  she 


236  PRECA  UTION'. 

was  incapable  of  harboring,  and  disappointed  in  all  those 
enjoyments  her  mother  had  ever  led  her  to  believe  the  in- 
variable accompaniments  of  married  life,  where  proper  at- 
tention had  been  paid  to  the  necessary  qualifications  oi 
riches  and  rank,  Kate  had  written  to  the  dowager  with  the 
hope  her  presence  might  restrain,  or  her  advice  teach  her, 
successfully  to  oppose  the  unfeeling  conduct  of  the  vis- 
count. 

Lady  Chatterton  never  having  implanted  any  of  her 
favorite  systems  in  her  daughter,  so  much  by  precept  as 
by  the  force  of  example  in  her  own  person,  as  well  as  by 
indirect  eulogiums  on  certain  people  who  were  endowed 
with  those  qualities  and  blessings  she  most  admired,  on  the 
present  occasion  Catherine  did  not  burden  herself  in  terms 
to  her  mother  ;  but  by  a  regular  gradation  of  complaints, 
aimed  more  at  the  world  than  at  her  husband,  she  soon  let 
the  knowing  dowager  see  their  application,  and  in  the  end 
completely  removed  the  veil  from  her  domestic  grievances. 

The  example  of  John  and  Grace  for  a  short  time  awed 
the  peer  into  dissembling  his  disgust  for  his  spouse  ;  but 
the  ice  once  broken,  their  presence  soon  ceased  to  affect 
either  the  frequency  or  the  severity  of  his  remarks,  \vhen 
under  its  influence. 

From  such  exhibitions  of  matrimonial  discord,  Grace 
shrank  timidly  into  the  retirement  of  her  room,  and  Jane, 
with  dignity,  would  follow  her  example  ;  while  John  at 
times  became  a  listener  with  a  spirit  barely  curbed  within 
the  bounds  of  prudence,  and  at  others  he  sought  in  the 
company  of  hi-s  wife  and  sister  relief  from  the  violence  of 
his  feelings. 

John  never  admired  nor  respected  Catherine,  for  she 
wanted  those  very  qualities  he  chiefly  loved  in  her  sister  ; 
yet,  as  she  wras  a  woman,  and  one  nearly  connected  with 
him,  he  found  it  impossible  to  remain  a  quiet  spectator  of 
the  unmanly  treatment  she  often  received  from  her  hus- 
band ;  he  therefore  made  preparations  for  his  return  to 
England  by  the  first  packet,  abridging  his  intended  resi- 
dence in  Lisbon  more  than  a  month. 

Lady  Chatterton  endeavored  all  within  her  power  to 
heal  the  breach  between  Kate  and  her  husband,  but  it 
greatly  exceeded  her  abilities.  It  was  too  late  to  implant 
such  principles  in  her  daughter  as,  by  a  long  course  of 
self-denial  and  submission,  might  have  won  the  love  of  the 
viscount,  had  the  mother  been  acquainted  with  them  her- 
self ;  so  that,  having  induced  her  child  to  marry  with  4 


PRECA  UTIOtf.  337 

view  to  obtaining  precedence  and  a  jointure,  she  once 
more  set  to  work  to  undo  part  of  her.  former  labors,  by 
bringing  about  a  decent  separation  between  the  husband 
and  wife,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  secure  to  her  child  the 
possession  of  her  wealth  and  the  esteem  of  the  world. 
The  latter,  though  certainly  a  somewhat  difficult  under- 
taking, was  greatly  lessened  by  the  assistance  of  the 
former. 

John  and  his  wife  determined  to  seize  the  opportunity 
to  examine  the  environs  of  the  ^ity.  In  one  of  these 
daily  rides  they  met  their  fellow  traveller,  Mr.,  now 
Lord  Harland.  He  was  rejoiced  to  see  them  again,  and 
hearing  of  their  intended  departure,  informed  them  of  his 
being  about  to  return  to  England  in  the  same  vessel — his 
parents  and  sister  contemplating  ending  the  winter  in 
Portugal. 

The  intercourse  between  the  two  families  was  kept  up 
with  a  show  of  civilities  between  the  noblemen,  and  much 
real  good-will  on  the  part  of  the  juniors  of  the  circle,  un- 
til the  day  arrived  for  the  sailing  of  the  packet. 

Lady  Chatterton  was  left  behind  with  Catherine,  as  yet 
unable  to  circumvent  her  schemes  with  prudence  ;  it 
being  deemed  by  the  world  a  worse  offence  to  separate, 
than  to  join  together  one's  children  in  the  bands  of  wed- 
lock. 

The  confinement  of  a  vessel  is  very  propitious  to  those 
intimacies  which  lead  to  attachments.  The  necessity  of 
being  agreeable  is  a  check  upon  the  captious,  and  the  de- 
sire to  lessen  the  dulness  of  the  scene  a  stimulus  to  the 
lively  ;  and  though  the  noble  divine  and  Jane  could  not 
possibly  be  ranked  in  either  class  the  effect  was  the  same. 
The  nobleman  was  much  enamored,  and  Jane  unconscious- 
ly gratified.  It  is  true,  love  had  never  entered  her  thoughts 
in  its  direct  and  unequivocal  form  ;  but  admiration  is  so 
consoling  to  those  laboring  under  self-condemnation,  and 
flattery  of  a  certain  kind  so  very  soothing  to  all,  it  is  not 
.to  be  wondered  that  she  listened  with  increasing  pleasure 
to  the  interesting  conversation  of  Harland  on  all  occasions, 
and  more  particularly,  as  often  happened,  when  exclusive- 
ly addressed  to  herself. 

Grace  had  of  late  reflected  more  seriously  on  the  sub- 
ject of  her  eternal  welfare  than  she  had  been  accustomed 
to  do  in  the  house  of  her  mother  ;  and  the  example  of 
Emily,  with  the  precepts  of  Mrs.  Wilson,  had  not  been 
thrown  away  upon  her.  It  is  a  singular  fact  that  more 


238  PRECA  UTIO.Y. 

women  feel  a  disposition  to  religion  soon  after  marriage, 
than  at  any  other  period  of  life  ;  and  whether  it  is  that, 
having  attained  the  most  important  station  this  life  affords 
the  sex,  they  are  more  willing  to  turn  their  thoughts  to  a 
provision  for  the  next,  or  whether  it  be  owing  to  any  other 
cause,  Mrs.  Moseley  was  included  in  the  number.  She 
became  sensibly  touched  with  her  situation,  and  as  Har- 
land  was  both  devout  and  able  as  well  as  anxious  to  in- 
struct, one  of  the  party,  at  least,  had  cause  to  rejoice  in 
the  journey  for  the  reniainder  of  her  days.  But  precisely 
as  Grace  increased  in  her  own  faith,  so  did  her  anxiety 
after  the  welfare  of  her  husband  receive  new  excitement ; 
and  John,  for  the  first  time,  became  the  cause  of  sorrow  to 
his  affectionate  companion. 

The  deep  interest  Harland  took  in  the  opening  convic- 
tion of  Mrs.  Moseley,  did  not  so  entirely  engross  his 
thoughts  as  to  prevent  the  too  frequent  contemplation  of 
the  charms  of  her  friend  for  his  own  peace  of  mind  ;  and 
by  the  time  the  vessel  reached  Falmouth,  he  had  deter- 
mined to  make  a  tender  of  his  hand  and  title  to  the  accept- 
ance of  Miss  Moseley.  Jane  did  not  love  Egerton  ;  on 
the  contrary,  she  despised  him  ;  but  the  time  had  been 
when  all  her  romantic  feelings,  every  thought  of  her  bril- 
liant imagination,  had  been  filled  with  his  image,  and  Jane 
felt  it  a  species  of  indelicacy  to  admit  the  impression  of 
another  so  soon,  or  even  at  all.  These  objections  would, 
in  time,  have  been  overcome,  as  her  affections  became 
more  and  more  enlisted  on  behalf  of  Harland,  had  she 
admitted  his  addresses ;  but  there  was  an  impediment  that 
Jane  considered  insurmountable  to  a  union  with  any  man. 

She  had  once  communicated  her  passion  to  its  object. 
There  had  been  the  confidence  of  approved  love  ;  and  she 
had  now  no  heart  for  Harland,  but  one  that  had  avowedly 
been  a  slave  to  another.  To  conceal  this  from  him  would 
be  unjust  and  not  reconcilable  to  good  faith  ;  to  confess  it, 
humiliating,  and  without  the  pale  of  probability.  It  was 
the  misfortune  of  Jane  to  keep  the  world  too  constantly 
before  her,  and  to  lose  sight  too  much  of  her  really  de- 
praved nature,  to  relish  the  idea  of  humbling  herself  so  low 
in  the  opinion  of  a  fellow-creature.  The  refusal  of  Har- 
land's  offer  was  the  consequence,  although  she  had  begun 
to  feel  an  esteem  for  him  that  would,  no  doubt,  have  given 
rise  to  an  attachment  in  time,  far  stronger  and  more  deeply 
seated  than  her  passing  fancy  for  Colonel  Egerton  had 
been. 


PR  EC  A  UT10K,  239 

If  the  horror  of  imposing  on  the  credulity  of  Harland 
a  wounded  heart  was  creditable  to  Jane,  and  showed  an 
elevation  of  character  that,  under  proper  guidance,  would 
have  placed  her  in  the  first  ranks  of  her  sex,  the  pride 
which  condemned  her  to  a  station  nature  did  not  design 
her  for,  was  irreconcilable  with  the  humility  a  just  view  of 
her  condition  could  not  fail  to  produce  ;  and  the  second 
sad  consequence  of  the  indulgent  weakness  of  her  parents, 
was  confirming  their  child  in  passions  directly  at  variance 
with  the  first  duties  of  a  Christian. 

We  have  so  little  right  to  value  ourselves  on  anything, 
that  pride  is  a  sentiment  of  very  doubtful  service,  and  one 
certainly  that  is  unable  to  effect  any  useful  results,  which 
will  not  equally  flow  from  good  principles. 

Harland  was  disappointed  and  grieved,  but  prudently 
judging  that  occupation  and  absence  would  remove  recol- 
lections which  could  not  be  very  deep,  they  parted  at  Fal- 
mouth,  and  our  travellers  proceeded  on  their  journey  for 

B ,  whither,  during  their  absence,  Sir  Edward's  family 

had  returned  to  spend  a  month,  before  they  removed  to 
town  for  the  residue  of  the  winter. 

The  meeting  of  the  two  parties  was  warm  and  tender, 
and  as  Jane  had  many  things  to  recount,  and  John  as  many 
to  laugh  at,  their  arrival  threw  a  gayety  around  Moseley 
Hall  to  which  it  had  for  months  been  a  stranger. 

One  of  the  first  acts  of  Grace,  after  her  return,  was  to 
enter  strictly  into  the  exercise  of  all  those  duties  and  ordi- 
nances required  by  her  church  and  the  present  state  of  her 
mind,  and  from  the  hands  of  Dr.  Ives  she  received  her  first 
communion  at  the  altar. 

As  the  season  had  now  become  far  advanced,  and  the 
fashionable  world  had  been  some  time  assembled  in  the 
metropolis,  the  baronet  commenced  his  arrangements  to 
take  possession  of  his  town-house,  after  an  interval  of  nine- 
teen years.  John  proceeded  to  the  capital  first  ;  and  the 
necessary  domestics  procured,  furniture  supplied,  and  other 
arrangements  usual  to  the  appearance  of  a  wealthy  family 
in  the  world  having  been  completed,  he  returned  with  the 
information  that  all  was  ready  for  their  triumphal  en- 
trance. 

Sir  Edward,  feeling  that  a  separation  for  so  long  a  time 
and  at  such  an  unusual  distance,  in  the  very  advanced  age 
of  Mr.  Benfield,  would  be  improper,  paid  him  a  visit  with 
the  intention  of  persuading  him  to  make  one  of  his  family 
for  the  next  four  months.  Emily  was  his  companion,  and 


240  PRECA  UT1ON. 

their  solicitations  were  happily  crowned  with  a  success 
they  had  not  anticipated.  Averse  to  being  deprived  of 
Peter's  society,  the  honest  steward  was  included  in  the 
party. 

"  Nephew,"  said  Mr.  Benfield,  beginning  to  waver  in  his 
objections  to  the  undertaking,  as  the  arguments  pro  and 
con  were  produced,  "  there  are  instances  of  gentlemen  not 
in  parliament  going  to  town  in  the  winter,  I  know.  You 
are  one  yourself ;  and  old  Sir  John  Cowel,  who  never 
could  get  in,  although  he  ran  for  every  city  in  the  king- 
dom, never  missed  his  winter  in  Soho.  Yes,  yes — the 
thing  is  admissible — but  had  I  known  your  wishes  before, 
I  would  certainly  have  kept  my  borough  if  it  were  only 
for  the  appearance  of  the  thing— besides,"  continued  the 
old  man,  shaking  his  head,  "his  Majesty's  ministers  require 
the  aid  of  some  more  experienced  members  in  these  critical 
times';  for  what  should  an  old  man  like  me  do  in  West- 
minster, unless  it  were  to  aid  his  country  with  his  advice  ?" 

"  Make  his  friends  happy  with  his  company,  dear  uncle," 
said  Emily,  taking  his  hand  between  both  her  own,  and 
smiling  affectionately  on  the  old  gentleman  as  she  spoke. 

"  Ah  !  Emmy  dear  !  "  cried  Mr.  Benfield,  looking  on  her 
with  melancholy  pleasure,  "  you  are  not  to  be  resisted — 
just  such  another  as  the  sister  of  my  old  friend,  Lord  Gos- 
ford  ;  she  could  always  coax  me  out  of  anything.  I  re- 
member now,  I  heard  the  earl  tell  her  once  he  could  not 
afford  to  buy  a  pair  of  diamond  ear-rings  ;  and  she  looked 
— only  looked,  did  not  speak  !  Emmy  ! — that  I  bought 
them  with  intent  to  present  them  to  her  myself." 

"And  did  she  take  them,  uncle  ?"  asked  his  niece,  in  a 
little  surprise. 

" Oh,  yes!  When  I  told  her  if  she  did  not  I  would 
throw  them  into  the  river,  as  no  one  else  should  wear 
what  had  been  intended  for  her  ;  poor  soul !  how  delicate 
and  unwilling  she  was.  I  had  to  convince  her  they  cost 
three  hundred  pounds,  before  she  would  listen  to  it  ;  and 
then  she  thought  it  such  a  pity  to  throw  away  a  thing  of 
so  much  value.  It  would  have  been  wicked,  you  know, 
Emmy  dear  ;  and  she  was  much  opposed  to  wickedness 
and  sin  in  any  shape." 

"  She  must  have  been  a  very  unexceptionable  character, 
indeed,"  cried  the  baronet,  with  a  smile,  as  he  proceeded 
to  make  the  necessary  orders  for  their  journey. 

But  we  must  return  to  the  party  left  at  Bath. 


PR  EC  A  UTION.  241 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE  letters  of  Lady  Laura  informed  her  friends  that  she 
and  Colonel  Denbigh  had  decided  to  remain  with  his 
uncle  until  the  recovery  of  the  latter  was  complete,  and 
then  to  proceed  to  Denbigh  Castle,  to  meet  the  duke  and 
his  sister  during  the  approaching  holidays. 

Emily  was  much  relieved  by  this  postponement  of  an 
interview  which  she  would  gladly  have  avoided  forever ; 
and  her  aunt  sincerely  rejoiced  that  her  niece  was  allowed 
more  time  to  eradicate  impressions  which,  she  saw  with 
pain,  her  charge  had  yet  a  struggle  to  overcome. 

There  were  so  many  points  to  admire  in  the  character 
of  Denbigh — his  friends  spoke  of  him  with  such  decided 
partiality,  Dr.  Ives,  in  his  frequent  letters,  alluded  to  him 
with  so  much  affection — that  Emily  frequently  detected 
herself  in  weighing  the  testimony  of  his  guilt,  and  indulg- 
ing the  expectation  that  circumstances  had  deceived  them 
all  in  their  judgment  of  his  conduct.  Then  his  marriage 
would  cross  her  mind  ;  and  with  the  conviction  of  the  im- 
propriety of  admitting  him  to  her  thoughts  at  all,  would 
come  the  mass  of  circumstantial  testimony  which  had  ac- 
cumulated against  him. 

Derwent  served  greatly  to  keep  alive  the  recollections 
of  his  person,  however  ;  and  as  Lady  Harriet  seemed  to 
live  only  in  the  society  of  the  Moseleys,  not  a  day  passed 
without  giving  the  duke  some  opportunity  of  indirectly 
preferring  his  suit. 

Emily  not  only  appeared,  but  in  fact  was,  unconscious 
of  his  admiration,  and  entered  into  their  amusements  with 
a  satisfaction  that  was  increased  by  the  belief  that  the 
unfortunate  attachment  her  cousin  Chatterton  had  once 
professed  for  herself,  was  forgotten  in  the  more  certain 
enjoyments  of  a  successful  love. 

Lady  Harriet  was  a  woman  of  manners  and  character 
very  different  from  Emily  Moseley,  yet  had  she,  in  a  great 
measure,  erased  the  impressions  made  by  the  beauty  of  his 
kinswoman  from  the  bosom  of  the  baron. 

Chatterton,  under  the  depression  of  his  first  disappoint 
ment,  it  will  be  remembered,  had  left  B —  -  in  company 
with  Mr.  Denbigh.     The  interest  of  the  duke  had  been  un- 
accountably exerted  to  procure  him  the   place   he  had  so 
long   solicited  in  vain,   and  gratitude  required    his  early 


242  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

acknowledgments  for  the  favor.  His  manner,  so  very  dif- 
ferent from  a  successful  applicant  for  a  valuable  office,  had 
struck  both  Derwent  and  his  sister  as  singular.  Before, 
however,  a  week's  intercourse  had  passed  between  them, 
his  own  frankness  had  made  them  acquainted  with  the 
cause  ;  and  a  double  wish  prevailed  in  the  bosom  of  Lady 
Harriet,  to  know  the  woman  who  could  resist  the  beauty 
of  Chatterton,  and  to  relieve  him  from  the  weight  imposed 
on  his  spirits  by  disappointed  affection. 

The  manners  of  Lady  Harriet  Denbigh  were  not  in  the 
least  forward  or  masculine  ;  but  they  had  the  freedom  of 
high  rank,  mingled  with  a  good  deal  of  the  ease  of  fashion- 
able life.  Mrs.  Wilson  noticed,  moreover,  in  her  conduct 
to  Chatterton,  a  something  exceeding  the  interest  of  ordi- 
nary communications  in  their  situation,  wrhich  might  pos- 
sibly have  been  attributed  more  to  feeling  than  to  manner. 
It  is -certain  one  of  the  surest  methods  to  drive  Emily  from 
his  thoughts,  was  to  dwell  on  the  perfections  of  some  other 
lady  ;  and  Lady  Harriet  was  so  constantly  before  him  in 
his  visit  into  Westmoreland,  so  soothing,  so  evidently 
pleased  with  his  presence,  that  the  baron  made  rapid  ad- 
vances in  attaining  his  object. 

He  had  alluded,  in  his  letter  to  Emily,  to  the  obligation 
he  was  under  to  the  services  of  Denbigh  in  erasing  his  un- 
fortunate partiality  for  her  ;  but  what  those  services  were 
we  are  unable  to  say,  unless  they  were  the  usual  arguments 
of  the  plainest  good  sense,  enforced  in  the  singularly  in- 
sinuating and  kind  manner  which  distinguished  that  gen- 
tleman. In  fact,  Lord  Chatterton  was  not  formed  by  nature 
to  love  long,  deprived  of  hope,  or  to  resist  long  the  flattery 
of  a  preference  from  such  a  woman  as  Harriet  Denbigh. 

On  the  other  hand,  Derwent  was  warm  in  his  encomiums 
on  Emily  to  all  but  herself  ;  and  Mrs.  Wilson  again  thought 
it  prudent  to  examine  into  the  state  of  her  feelings,  in  or- 
der to  discover  if  there  was  any  danger  of  his  unremitted 
efforts  drawing  Emily  into  a  connection  that  neither  her 
religion  nor  prudence  could  wholly  approve. 

Derwent  was  a  man  of  the  wrorld — a  Christian  only  in 
name  ;  and  the  cautious  widow  determined  to  withdraw  in 
season,  should  she  find  grounds  for  her  apprehensions. 

About  ten  days  after  the  departure  of  the  dowager  and 
her  companions,  Lady  Harriet  exclaimed,  in'  one  of  her 
morning  visits — 

"Lady  Moseley  !  I  have  now  hopes  of  presenting  to  you 
soon  the  most  polished  man  in  the  United  Kingdom  ! " 


PR  EC  A  UT10N.  243 

''As  a  husband!  Lady  Harriet?"  inquired  the  other 
with  a  smile. 

u  Oh,  no  !  only  as  a  cousin,  a  second  cousin  !  madam  ! " 
replied  Lady  Harriet,  blushing  a  little,  and  looking  in  the 
opposite  direction  to  the  one  in  which  Chatterton  was 
placed. 

"  But  his  name  ?  You  forget  our  curiosity  !  What  is 
his  name  ? "  cried  Mrs.  Wilson,  entering  into  the  trifling 
for  the  moment. 

"  Pendennyss,  to  be  sure,  my  dear  madam  :  whom  else 
can  I  mean  ?  " 

"  And  you  expect  the  earl  at  Bath  ? "  Mrs.  Wilson  eagerly 
inquired. 

"  He  has  given  us  such  hopes,  and  Derwent  has  written 
him  to-day,  pressing  the  journey." 

"  You  will  be  disappointed,  I  am  afraid,  sister,"  said  the 
duke.  "  Pendennyss  has  become  so  fond  of  Wales  of  late, 
that  it  is  difficult  to  get  him  out  of  it." 

"  But,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  "  he  will  take  his  seat  in  par- 
liament during  the  winter,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  I  hope  he  will,  madam ;  though  Lord  Eltringham 
holds  his  proxies,  in  my  absence,  in  all  important  ques- 
tions before  the  house." 

"Your  grace  will  attend,  I  trust,"  said  Sir  Edward. 
"The  pleasure  of  your  company  is  among  my  expected 
enjoyments  in  the  town." 

"You  are  very  good,  Sir  Edward,"  replied  the  duke, 
looking  at  Emily.  "  It  will  somewhat  depend  on  circum- 
stances, I  believe." 

Lady  Harriet  smiled,  and  the  speech  seemed  under- 
stood by  all  but  the  lady  most  concerned  in  it. 

"  Lord  Pendennyss  is  a  universal  favorite,  and  deserv- 
edly so,"  cried  the  duke.  "  He  has  set  an  example  to  the 
nobility,  which  few  are  equal  to  imitate.  An  only  son, 
with  an  immense  estate,  he  has  devoted  himself  to  the  pro- 
fession of  a  soldier,  and  gained  great  reputation  by  it  in 
the  world  ;  nor  has  he  neglected  any  of  his  private  duties 
as  a  man"- 

"  Or  a  Christian,  I  hope,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  delighted 
with  the  praises  of  the  earl. 

"Nor  of  a  Christian,  I  believe,"  continued  the  duke; 
"he  'appears  consistent,  humble,  and  sincere — three  req- 
uisites, I  believe,  for  that  character." 

"  Does  not  your  grace  know  ? "  said  Emily,  with  a  be- 
nevolent smile. 


244  PRECAUTION. 

Derwent  colored  slightly  as  he  answered — 

"  Not  as  well  as  I  ought ;  but  " — lowering  his  voice  for 
her  alone,  he  added,  "  under  proper  instruction  I  think  I 
might  learn." 

"  Then  I  would  recommend  that  book  to  you,  my  lord," 
rejoined  Emily,  with  a  blush,  pointing  to  a  pocket  Biblet 
which  lay  near  her,  though  still  ignorant  of  the  allusion 
he  meant  to  convey. 

"  May  I  ask  the  honor  of  an  audience  of  Miss  Moseley," 
said  Derwerit,  in  the  same  low  tone,  "  whenever  her  leisure 
will  admit  of  her  granting  the  favor  ?" 

Emily  was  surprised  ;  but  from  the  previous  conversa- 
tion and  the  current  of  her  thoughts  at  the  moment,  sup- 
posing his  communication  had  some  reference  to  the 
subject  before  them,  she  rose  from  the  chair,  and  unobtru- 
sively, but  certainly  with  an  air  of  perfect  innocence  and 
composure,  she  went  into  the  adjoining  room,  the  door  of 
which  was  open  very  near  them. 

Caroline  Harris  had  abandoned  all  *deas  of  a  coronet 
with  the  departure  of  the  Marquis  of  fcltringham  and  his 
sisters  for  their  own  seat ;  and  as  a  final  effort  of  her  fad- 
ing charms,  had  begun  to  calculate  the  capabilities  of 
Captain  Jarvis,  who  had  at  this  time  honored  Bath  with 
his  company. 

It  is  true,  the  lady  would  hav<y  greatly  preferred  her 
father's  neighbor,  but  that  was  ah  irretrievable  step.  He 
had  retired,  disgusted  with  her  haughty  dismissal  of  his 
hopes,  and  was  a  man  who,  Although  he  greatly  ad- 
mired her  fortune,  was  not  to  be  recalled  by  any  beck  or 
smile  which  might  grow  out  of  caprice. 

Lady  Jarvis  had,  indeed,  rather  magnified  the  personal 
qualifications  of  her  son  ;  but  the  disposition  they  had 
manifested  to  devote  some  of  their  surplus  wealth  to  pur- 
chasing a  title,  had  great  weight,  for  Miss  Harris  would 
cheerfully,  at  any  time,  have  sacrificed  one-half  her  own 
fortune  to  be  called  my  lady.  Jarvis  would  make  but  a 
shabby-looking  lord,  'tis  true  ;  but  then  what  a  lord's  wife 
would  she  not  make  herself !  His  father  was  a  merchant, 
to  be  sure,  but  then  merchants  were  always  immensely 
rich,  and  a  few  thousand  pounds,  properly  applied,  might 
make  the  merchant's  son  a  baron.  She  therefore  resolved 
to  inquire,  the  first  opportunity,  into  the  condition  of  the 
sinking  fund  of  his  plebeianism,  and  had  serious  thoughts 
of  contributing  her  mite  toward  the  advancement  of  the 


PRECA  UTION.  245 

desired  object,  did  she  find  it  within  the  bounds  of  proba- 
ble success. 

An  occasion  soon  offered,  by  the  invitation  of  the  cap- 
tain to  accompany  him  in  an  excursion  in  the  tilbury  of 
his  brother-in-law. 

In  this  ride  they  passed  the  equipages  of  Lady  Harriet 
and  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  their  respective  mistresses,  taking 
an  airing.  In  passing  the  latter,  Jarvis  bowed  (for  he  had 
renewed  his  acquaintance  at  the  rooms,  without  daring  to 
visit  at  the  lodgings  of  Sir  Edward),  and  Miss  Harris  saw 
both  parties  as  they  dashed  by  them. 

"You  know  the  Moseleys,  Caroline?"  said  Jarvis,  with 
the  freedom  her  manners  had  established  between  them. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  lady,  drawing  her  head  back  from  a 
view  of  the  carriages  ;  "what  fine  arms  those  of  the  duke's 
are — and  the  coronet,  it  is  so  noble — so  rich — I  am  sure  if 
I  were  a  man,"  laying  great  emphasis  on  the  word — "  I 
would  be  a  lord." 

"If you  could,  you  mean,"  cried  the  captain. 

"  Could — why  money  will  buy  a  title,  you  know — only 
most  people  are  fonder  of  their  cash  than  of  honor." 

"That's  right,"  said  the  unreflecting  captain  ;  "money  is 
the  thing  after  all.  Now  what  do  you  suppose  our  last 
mess-bill  came  to? " 

"Oh,  don't  talk  of  eating  and  drinking,"  cried  Miss  Har- 
ris, in  affected  aversion  ;  "  it  is  beneath  the  consideration 
of  nobility." 

"  Then  any  one  may  be  a  lord  for  me,"  said  Jarvis,  dryly, 
"  if  they  are  not  to  eat  and  drink  ;  why,  what  do  they  live 
for,  but  such  sort  of  things  !  " 

"  A  soldier  lives  to  fight  and  gain  honor  and  distinction  " 
— for  his  wife — Miss  Harris  would  have  added,  had  she 
spoken  all  she  thought. 

"A  poor  way  that  of  spending  a  man's  time,"  said  the 
captain.  "  Now  there  is  Captain  Jones  in  our  regiment ; 
they  say  he  loves  fighting  as  much  as  eating  :  if  he  do,  he 
is  a  bloodthirsty  fellow." 

"  You  know  how  intimate  I  am  with  your  dear  mother," 
continued  the  lady,  bent  on  the  principal  object ;  "  she  has 
made  me  acquainted  with  her  greatest  wish." 

"  Her  greatest  wish  !"  cried  the  captain  in  astonishment ; 
"  why,  what  can  that  be  ? — a  new  coach  and  horses  ?" 

"  No,  I  mean  one  much  dearer  to  us — I  should  say  to 
her,  than  any  such  trifles  ;  she  has  told  me  of  the //#;/." 

"  Plan  !"  said  Jarvis,  still  in  wonder  ;  "  what  plan  ?" 


246  PRECAUTION'. 

"  About  the  fund  for  the  peerage,  you  know.  Of  course, 
the  thing  is  sacred  with  me,  as,  indeed,  I  am  equally  inter* 
ested  with  you  all  in  its  success." 

Jarvis  eyed  her  with  a  knowing  look,  and  as  she  con- 
cluded, rolling  his  eyes  in  an  expression  of  significance,  he 
said — 

"  What,  serve  Sir  William  some  such  way,  eh  ? " 

"  I  will  assist  a  little,  if  it  be  necessary,  Henry,"  said  the 
lady,  tenderly,  "  although  my  mite  cannot  amount  to  a 
great  deal." 

During  this  speech,  the  captain  was  wondering  what  she 
could  mean  ;  but,  having  had  a  suspicion,  from  something 
that  had  fallen  from  his  mother,  that  the  lady  was  intended 
for  him  as  a  wife,  and  that  she  might  be  as  great  a  dupe  as 
Lady  Jarvis  herself,  he  was  resolved  to  know  the  whole, 
and  to  act  accordingly. 

"  I  think  it  might  be  made  to  do,"  he  replied,  evasively, 
in  order  to  discover  the  extent  of  his  companion's  infor- 
mation. 

"  Do  !  "  cried  Miss  Harris,  with  fervor,  "  it  cannot  fail ! 
How  much  do  you  suppose  will  be  wanting  to  buy  a  bar- 
ony, for  instance  ? " 

"  Hem  ! "  said  Jarvis  ;  "  you  mean  more  than  we  have 
already  ? " 

"Certainly." 

"  Why,  about  a  thousand  pounds,  I  think,  will  do  it,  with 
what  we  have,"  said  Jarvis,  affecting  to  calculate. 

"Is  that  all?"  cried  the  delighted  Caroline;  and  the 
captain  grew  in  an  instant,  in  her  estimation,  three  inches 
higher  ; — quite  noble  in  his  air,  and,  in  short,  very  tolerably 
handsome. 

From  that  moment,  Miss  Harris,  in  her  own  mind,  had 
fixed  the  fate  of  Captain  Jarvis,  and  had  determined  to  be 
his  wife,  whenever  she  could  persuade  him  to  offer  himself; 
a  thing  she  had  no  doubt  of  accomplishing  with  compar- 
ative ease.  Not  so  the  captain.  Like  all  weak  men,  there 
was  nothing  of  which  he  stood  more  in  terror  than  of  ridi- 
cule. He  had  heard  the  manoeuvres  of  Miss  Harris 
laughed  at  by  many  of  the  young  men  in  Bath,  and  was 
by  no  means  disposed  to  add  himself  to  the  food  for  mirth 
of  these  wags  ;  and,  indeed,  had  cultivated  her  acquaint- 
ance with  a  kind  of  bravado  to  some  of  his  bottle  com- 
panions,  in  order  to  show  his  ability  to  oppose  all  her  arts, 
when  most  exposed  to  them  ;  for  it  is  one  of  the  greatest 
difficulties  to  the  success  of  this  description  of  ladies,  that 


PRECAUTION-.  2tf 

their  characters  soon  become  suspected,  and  do  them  in- 
finitely more  injury  than  all  their  skill  in  their  vocation. 

With  these  views  in  the  respective  champions  the  cam- 
paign opened,  and  the  lady,  on  her  return,  acquainted  his 
mother  with  the  situation  of  the  privy  purse,  that  was  to 
promote  her  darling  child  to  the  enviable  distinction  of  the 
peerage.  Lady  Jarvis  was  for  purchasing  a  baronetcy  on 
the  spot,  with  what  they  had,  under  the  impression  that 
when  ready  for  another  promotion  they  would  only  have 
to  pay  the  difference,  as  they  did  in  the  army  when  he  re- 
ceived his  captaincy.  As,  however,  the  son  was  opposed 
to  any  arrangement  that  might  make  the  producing  the 
few  hundred  pounds  he  had  obtained  from  his  mother's 
folly  necessary,  she  was  obliged  to  postpone  the  wished- 
for  day  until  their  united  efforts  could  compass  the  means 
of  effecting  the  main  point.  As  an  earnest,  however,  of 
her  spirit  in  the  cause,  she  gave  him  a  fifty  pound  note, 
that  morning  obtained  from  her  husband,  and  which  the 
captain  lost  at  one  throw  of  the  dice  to  his  brother-in-law 
the  same  evening. 

During  the  preceding  events  Egerton  had  either  studi- 
ously avoided  all  collision  with  the  Moseleys,  or  his  en- 
gagements had  confined  him  to  such  very  different  scenes 
that  they  never  met. 

The  baronet  had  felt  his  presence  a  reproach,  and  Lady 
Moseley  rejoiced  that  Egerton  yet  possessed  sufficient 
shame  to  keep  him  from  insulting  her  with  his  company. 

It  was  a  month  after  the  departure  of  Lady  Chatterton 
that  Sir  Edward  returned  to  B ,  as  related  in  the  pre- 
ceding chapter,  and  that  the  arrangements  for  the  London 
winter  were  commenced. 

The  day  preceding  their  leaving  Bath,  the  engagement 
of  Chatterton  with  Lady  Harriet  was  made  public  among 
their  mutual  friends,  and  an  intimation  was  given  that  their 
nuptials  would  be  celebrated  before  the  family  of  the  duke 
left  his  seat  for  the  capital. 

Something  of  the  pleasure  that  she  had  for  a  long  time 
been  a  stranger  to,  was  felt  by  Emily  Moseley  as  the  well 

remembered  tower  of  the  village  church  of  B struck 

her  sight  on  their  return  from  their  protracted  excursion. 
More  than  four  months  had  elapsed  since  they  had  com- 
menced their  travels,  and  in  that  period  what  changes  of 
sentiments  had  she  not  witnessed  in  others ;  of  opinions  of 
mankind  in  general,  and  of  one  individual  in  particular, 
had  she  not  experienced  in  her  own  person.  The  benevo- 


248  PRECAUTION'. 

/ent  smiles,  the  respectful  salutations  they  received,  in 
passing  the  little  group  of  houses  which,  clustered  round 
the  church,  had  obtained  the  name  of  "  the  village,"  con- 
veyed a  sensation  of  delight  that  can  only  be  felt  by  the 
deserving  and  virtuous  ;  and  the  smiling  faces,  in  several 
instances  glistening  with  tears,  which  met  them  at  the  hall, 
gave  ample  testimony  to  the  worth  of  both  the  master  and 
his  servants. 

Francis  and  Clara  were  in  waiting  to  receive  them,  and 
a  very  few  minutes  elapsed  before  the  rector  and  Mrs. 
Ives,  having  heard  they  had  passed,  drove  in  also.  In  sa- 
luting the  different  members  of  the  family,  Mrs.  Wilson 
noticed  the  startled  look  of  the  doctor,  as  the  change  in 
Emily's  appearance  first  met  his  eyes.  Her  bloom,  if  not 
gone,  was  greatly  diminished  ;  and  it  was  only  when  under 
the  excitement  of  strong  emotions  that  her  face  possessed 
that  radiance  which  had  so  eminently  distinguished  it  be- 
fore her  late  journey. 

"  Where  did  you  last  see  my  friend  George  ?  "  said  the 
doctor  to  Mrs.  Wilson,  in  the  course  of  the  first  afternoon, 
as  he  took  a  seat  by  her  side,  apart  from  the  rest  of  the 
family. 

"At  L ,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  gravely. 

"L !"    cried    the    doctor,  in    evident    amazement. 

"Was  he  not  at  Bath  then  during  your  stay  there  ?" 

"No  ;  I  understood  he  was  in  attendance  on  some  sick 
relative,  which  detained  him  from  his  friends,"  said  Mrs. 
Wilson,  wondering  why  the  doctor  chose  to  introduce  so 
delicate  a  topic.  Of  his  guilt  in  relation  to  Mrs.  Fitzger- 
ald he  was  doubtless  ignorant,  but  surely  not  of  his  mar- 
riage. 

"  It  is  now  sometime  since  I  heard  from  him,"  continued 
the  doctor,  regarding  Mrs.  Wilson  expressively,  but  to 
which  the  lady  only  replied  with  a  gentle  inclination  of 
the  body  ;  and  the  rector,  after  pausing  a  moment,  con- 
tinued : 

"  You  will  not  think  me  impertinent  if  I  am  bold  enough 
to  ask,  has  George  ever  expressed  a  wish  to  become  con- 
nected with  your  niece  by  other  ties  than  those  of  friend- 
ship?" 

"  He  did,  "  answered  the  widow,  after  a  little  hesitation. 

"  He  did,  and  "- 

"Was  refused,"  continued  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  a  sL'ght 
feeling  for  the  dignity  of  her  sex,  which  for  a  moment 
caused  her  to  lose  sight  of  justice  to  Denbigh. 


PRECAUTION.  249 

Dr.  Ives  was  silent  ;  but  manifested  by  his  dejected 
countenance  the  interest  he  had  taken  in  this  anticipated 
connection,  and  as  Mrs.  Wilson  had  spoken  with  ill-con- 
cealed reluctance  on  the  subject  at  all,  the  rector  did  not 
attempt  a  renewal  of  the  disagreeable  topic  ;  though  she 
saw,  for  sometime  afterward,  whenever  the  baronet  or  his 
wife  mentioned  the  name  of  Denbigh,  that  the  eyes  of  the 
rector  were  turned  on  them  in  intense  interest. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

"STEVENSON  has  returned,  and  I  certainly  must  hear 
from  Harriet,"  exclaimed  the  sister  of  Pendennyss,  as  she 
stood  at  a  window  watching  the  return  of  a  servant  from 
the  neighboring  post-office. 

11 1  am  afraid,"  rejoined  the  earl,  who  was  seated  by  the 
breakfast-table,  waiting  the  leisure  of  the  lady  to  give  him 
his  cup  of  tea — "you  find  Wales  very  dull,  sister.  I  sin- 
cerely hope  both  Derwent  and  Harriet  will  not  forget  their 
promise  of  visiting  us  this  month." 

The  lady  slowly  took  her  seat  at  the  table,  engrossed  in 
her  own  reflections,  when  the  man  entered  with  his  budget 
of  news  ;  and  having  deposited  sundry  papers  and  letters 
he  respectfully  withdrew.  The  earl  glanced  his  eyes  over 
the  directions  of  the  epistles,  and  turning  to  his  servants 
said,  "Answer  the  bell  when  called."  Three  or  four  liver- 
ied footmen  deposited  their  silver  salvers  and  different  im- 
plements of  servitude,  and  the  peer  and  his  sister  were  left 
to  themselves. 

"  Here  is  one  from  the  duke  to  me,  and  one  for  you  from 
his  sister,"  said  the  brother  ;  "  J  propose  they  be  read  aloud 
for  our  mutual  advantage."  To  this  proposal  the  lady, 
whose  curiosity  to  hear  the  contents  of  Dervvent's  letter 
greatly  exceeded  her  interest  in  that  of  his  sister,  cheer- 
fully acquiesced,  and  her  brother  first  broke  the  seal  of  his 
own  epistle,  and  read  its  contents  as  follow  : 

"Notwithstanding  my  promise  of  seeing  you  this  month 
in  Caernarvonshire,  I  remain  here  yet,  my  dear  Pendennyss, 
unable  to  tear  myself  from  the  attractions  I  have  found 
in  this  city,  although  the  pleasure  of  their  contemplation 
has  been  purchased  at  the  expense  of  mortified  feelings  and 
unrequited  affections.  It  is  a  truth  (though  possibly  dif- 


250  PRECA  UTION. 

ficult  to  be  believed),  that  this  mercenary  age  has  produced 
a  female  disengaged,  young,  and  by  no  means  very  rich, 
who  has  refused  a  jointure  of  six  thousand  a  year,  with 
the  privilege  of  walking  at  a  coronation  within  a  dozen  of 
royalty  itself." 

Here  the  accidental  falling  of  a  cup  from  the  hands  of 
the  fair  listener  caused  some  little  interruption  to  the  read- 
ing of  the  brother  ;  but  as  the  lady,  with  a  good  deal  of 
trepidation  and  many  blushes,  apologized  hastily  for  the 
confusion  her  awkwardness  had  made,  the  earl  continued 
to  read. 

"  I  could  almost  worship  her  independence  :  for  I  know 
the  wishes  of  both  her  parents  were  for  my  success.  I 
confess  to  you  freely,  that  my  vanity  has  been  a  good  deal 
hurt,  as  I  really  thought  myself  agreeable  to  her.  She 
certainly  listened  to  my  conversation,  and  admitted  my 
approaches,  with  more  satisfaction  than  those  of  any  other 
of  the  men  around  her ;  and  when  I  ventured  to  hint  to 
her  this  circumstance,  as  some  justification  for  my  pre- 
sumption, she  frankly  acknowledged  the  truth  of  my  im- 
pression, and  without  explaining  the  reasons  for  her  con- 
duct, deeply  regretted  the  construction  I  had  been  led  to 
place  upon  the  circumstance.  Yes,  my  lord,  I  felt  it 
necessary  to  apologize  to  Emily  Moseley  for  presuming  to 
aspire  to  the  honor  of  possessing  so  much  loveliness  and 
virtue.  The  accidental  advantages  of  rank  and  wealth 
lose  all  their  importance,  when  opposed  to  her  delicacy, 
ingenuousness,  and  unaffected  principles. 

"  I  have  heard  it  intimated  lately,  that  George  Denbigh 
was  in  some  way  or  other  instrumental  in  saving  her  life 
once  ;  and  that  to  her  gratitude,  and  to  my  resemblance 
to  the  colonel,  am  I  indebted  to  a  consideration  with  Miss 
Moseley,  which,  although  it  has  been  the  means  of  buoy- 
ing me  up  with  false  hopes,  I  can  never  regret,  from  the 
pleasure  her  society  has  afforded  me.  I  have  remarked, 
on  my  mentioning  his  name  to  her,  that  she  showed  un- 
usual emotion  ;  and  as  Denbigh  is  already  a  husband,  and 
myself  rejected,  the  field  is  now  fairly  open  to  you.  You 
will  enter  on  your  enterprise  with  great  advantage,  as  you 
have  the  same  flattering  resemblance,  and,  if  anything,  the 
voice,  which,  I  am  told,  is  our  greatest  recommendation 
with  the  ladies,  in  higher  perfection  than  either  George 
or  your  humble  servant." 

Here  the  reader  stopped  of  his  own  accord,  and  was  so 
intently  absorbed  in  his  meditations,  that  .the  almost 


PRECAUTION:  251 

breathless  curiosity  of  his  sister  was  obliged  to  find  relief 
by  desiring  him  to  proceed.  Roused  by  the  sound  of  her 
voice,  the  earl  changed  color  sensibly,  and  continued : 

"  But  to  be  serious  on  a  subject  of  great  importance  to 
my  future  life  (for  I  sometimes  think  her  negative  will 
make  Denbigh  a  duke),  the  lovely  girl  did  not  appear 
happy  at  the  time  of  our  interview,  nor  do  I  think  she  en- 
joys at  anytime  the  spirits  nature  has  evidently  given  her. 
Harriet  is  nearly  as  great  an  admirer  of  Miss  Moseley,  and 
takes  her  refusal  to  heart  as  much  as  myself  ;  she  even 
attempted  to  intercede  with  her  in  my  behalf.  But  the 
charming  girl,  though  mild,  grateful,  and  delicate,  was 
firm  and  unequivocal,  and  left  no  grounds  for  the  remotest 
expectation  of  success  from  perseverance  on  my  part. 

"  As  Harriet  had  received  an  intimation  that  both  Miss 
Moseley  and  her  aunt  entertained  extremely  rigid  notions 
on  the  score  of  religion,  she  took  occasion  to  introduce 
the  subject  in  her  conference  with  the  former,  and  was 
told  in  reply,  'that  other  considerations  would  have  de- 
termined her  to  decline  the  honor  I  intended  her  ;  but 
that,  under  any  circumstances,  a  more  intimate  knowledge 
of  my  principles  would  be  necessary  before  she  could  en- 
tertain a  thought  of  accepting  my  hand,  or,  indeed,  that 
of  any  other  man.'  Think  of  that,  Pendennyss !  The 
principles  of  a  duke  ! — now  a  dukedom  and  forty  thousand 
a  year  would  furnish  a  character,  with  most  people,  for  a 
Nero. 

"  I  trust  the  important  object  I  have  had  in  view  here  is 
a  sufficient  excuse  for  my  breach  of  promise  to  you  ;  and  I 
am  serious  when  I  wish  you  (unless  the  pretty  Spaniard 
has,  as  I  sometimes  suspect,  made  you  a  captive)  to  see, 
and  endeavor  to  bring  me  in  some  degree  connected  with, 
the  charming  family  of  Sir  Edward  Moseley. 

"The  aunt,  Mrs.  Wilson,  often  speaks  of  you  with  the 
greatest  interest,  and,  from  some  cause  or  other,  is  strong- 
ly enlisted  in  your  favor,  and  Miss  Moseley  hears  your 
name  mentioned  with  evident  pleasure.  Your  religion  or 
principles  cannot  be  doubted.  You  can  offer  larger  settle- 
ments, as  honorable  if  not  as  elevated  a  title,  a  far  more 
illustrious  name,  purchased  by  your  own  services  and  per- 
sonal merit  greatly  exceeding  the  pretensions  of  your 
assured  friend  and  relative,  DERWENT." 

Both  brother  and  sister  were  occupied  with  their  own 
reflections  for  several  minutes  after  the  letter  was  ended 


252  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

and  the  silence  was  broken  first,  by  the  latter  saying  with 
a  low  tone  to  her  brother — 

"  You  must  endeavor  to  become  acquainted  with  Mrs. 
Wilson  ;  she  is,  I  know,  very  anxious  to  see  you,  and  your 
friendship  for  the  general  requires  it  of  you." 

"  I  owe  General  Wilson  much,"  replied  the  Brother,  in  a 
melancholy  voice  ;  "and  when  we  go  to  Annerdale  House, 
I  wish  you  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  ladies  of 
the  Moseley  family,  should  they  be  in  town  this  winter  ;  •— 
but  you  have  yet  the  letter  of  Harriet  to  read." 

After  first  hastily  running  over  its  contents,  the  lady 
commenced  the  fulfilment  of  her  part  of  the  engagement. 

"  Frederick  has  been  so  much  engrossed  of  late  with  his 
own  aifairs,  that  he  has  forgotten  there  is  such  a  creature 
in  existence  as  his  sister,  or,  indeed,  any  one  else  but  a 
Miss  Emily  Moseley,  and  consequently  I  have  been  un- 
able to  fulfil  my  promise  of  making  you  a  visit,  for  want  of 
a  proper  escort,  and — and — perhaps  some  other  considera- 
tions, not  worth  mentioning  in  a  letter  I  know  you  wil1 
read  to  the  earl. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  cousin,  Frederick  Denbigh  has  suppli- 
cated the  daughter  of  a  country  baronet  to  become  a  duch- 
ess ;  and,  hear  it,  ye  marriage-seekingnymphsand  marriage- 
making  dames  !  has  supplicated  in  vain  ! 

"  I  confess  to  you,  when  the  thing  was  first  in  agitation, 
my  aristocratic  blood  roused  itself  a  little  at  the  anticipated 
connection  :  but  finding  on  examination  that  Sir  Edward 
was  of  no  doubtful  lineage,  and  that  the  blood  of  the  Chat- 
tertons  runs  in  his  veins,  and  finding  the  young  lady  every- 
thing I  could  wish  in  a  sister,  my  scruples  soon  disappeared, 
with  the  folly  that  engendered  them. 

"  There  was  no  necessity  for  any  alarm,  for  the  lady  very 
decidedly  refused  the  honor  offered  her  by  Derwent,  and 
what  makes  the  matter  worse,  refused  the  solicitations  of 
his  sister  also. 

"  I  have  fifty  times  been  surprised  by  my  own  condescen- 
sion, and  to  this  moment  am  at  a  loss  to  know  whether  it 
was  to  the  lady's  worth,  my  brother's  happiness,  or  the  Chat- 
terton  blood,  that  I  finally  yielded.  Heigho  !  this  Chatter- 
ton  is  certainly  much  too  handsome  for  a  man  ;  but  I  forget 
you  have  never  seen  him." 

(Here  an  arch  smile  stole  over  the  features  of  the  listener, 
as  his  sister  continued) — u  To  return  to  my  narration,  I 
had  half  a  mind  to  send  for  a  Miss  Harris  there  is  here,  ro 


PR  EC  A  UTION;  253 

learn  the  most  approved  fashion  of  a  lady  preferring  a  suit, 
but  as  fame  said  she  was  just  now  practising  on  a  certain 
hero  ycleped  Captain  Jarvis,  heir  to  Sir  Timo  of  that  name, 
it  struck  me  her  system  might  be  rather  too  abrupt,  so  I 
was  fain  to  adopt  the  best  plan — that  of  trusting  to  nature 
and  my  own  feelings  for  words. 

"  Nobility  is  certainly  a  very  pretty  thing  (for  those  who 

have  it),  but  I  would  defy  the  old  Margravine  of to 

keep  up  the  semblance  of  superiority  with  Emily  Moseley. 
She  is  so  very  natural,  so  very  beautiful,  and  withal  at  times 
a  little  arch,  that  one  is  afraid  to  set  up  any  other  distinc- 
tions than  such  as  can  be  fairly  supported. 

"  I  commenced  with  hoping  her  determination  to  reject 
the  hand  of  Frederick  was  hot  an  unalterable  one.  (Yes, 
I  called  him  Frederick,  what  I  never  did  out  of  my  own 
family  before  in  my  life.)  There  was  a  considerable  tremor 
in  the  voice  of  Miss  Moseley,  as  she  replied,  '  I  now  per- 
ceive, when  too  late,  that  my  indiscretion  has  given  reason 
to  my  friends  to  think  that  I  have  entertained  intentions 
toward  his  grace,  of  which  I  entreat  you  to  believe  me, 
Lady  Harriet,  I  am  innocent.  Indeed — indeed,  as  anything 
more  than  an  agreeable  acquaintance  I  have  never  al- 
lowed myself  to  think  of  your  brother  ; '  and  from  my  soul 
I  believe  her.  We  continued  our  conversation  for  half  an 
hour  longer,  and  such  was  the  ingenuousness,  delicacy, 
and  high  religious  feeling  displayed  by  the  charming  girl, 
that  if  I  entered  the  room  with  a  spark  of  regret  that  I 
was  compelled  to  solicit  another  to  favor  my  brother's  love, 
I  left  it  with  a  feeling  that  my  efforts  had  been  unsuccess- 
ful !  Yes  !  thou  peerless  sister  of  the  more  peerless  Pen- 
dennyss  !  I  once  thought  of  your  ladyship  as  a  wife  for 
Derwent " 

A  glass  of  water  was  necessary  to  enable  the  reader  to 
clear  her  voice,  which  grew  husky  from  speaking  so 
long. 

"  But  I  now  openly  avow,  neither  your  birth,  your  hun- 
dred thousand  pounds,  nor  your  merit,  would  put  you  on 
a  footing,  in  my  estimation,  with  my  Emily.  You  may 
form  some  idea  of  her  power  to  captivate,  and  of  her  in- 
difference to  her  conquests,  when  I  mention  that  she  once 
refused — but  I  forget,  you  don't  know  him,  and  therefore 
cannot  be  a  judge.  The  thing  is  finally  decided,  and  we 
shortly  go  into  Westmoreland,  and  next  week,  the  Mose- 
leys  return  to  Northamptonshire.  I  don't  know  when  I 
shall  be  able  to  visit  you,  and  think  I  may  now  safely  invite 


254  PRECAUTION. 

you  to  Denbigh  Castle,  although  a  month  ago  I  might 
have  hesitated.  Love  to  the  earl,  and  kind  assurance  to 
yourself  of  unalterable  regard. 

"  HARRIET  DENBIGH." 

"  P.  S.  I  believe  I  forgot  to  mention  that  Mrs.  Moseley,  a 
sister  of  Lord  Chatterton,  has  gone  to  Portugal,  and  that 
the  peer  himself  is  to  go  into  the  country  with  us  ;  there 
is,  I  suppose,  a  fellow-feeling  between  them  just  now, 
though  I  do  not  think  Chatterton  looks  so  very  miserable 
as  he  might.  Adieu." 

On  ending  this  second  epistle  the  same  silence  which  had 
succeeded  the  reading  of  the  first  prevailed,  until  the  lady, 
with  an  arch-  expression,  interrupted  it  by  saying, 

"  Harriet  will,  I  think,  soon  grace  the  peerage." 

"And  happily,  I  trust,"  replied  the  brother. 

"  Do  you  know  Lord  Chatterton  ?" 

"  I  do  ;  he  is  very  amiable,  and  admirably  calculated  to 
contrast  with  the  lively  gayety  of  Harriet  Denbigh." 

"You  believe  in  loving  our  opposites,  I  see,"  rejoined 
the  lady ;  and  then  affectionately  stretching  out  her  hand 
to  him,  she  added,  "but,  Pendennyss,  you  must  give  me 
for  a  sister  one  as  nearly  like  yourself  as  possible." 

"  That  might  please  your  affections,"  answered  the  earl 
with  a  smile,  "  but  how  would  it  comport  with  my  tastes  ? 
Will  you  suffer  me  to  describe  the  kind  of  man  you  are  to 
select  for  your  future  lord,  unless,  indeed,  you  have  de- 
cided the  point  already  ?" 

The  lady  colored  violently,  and  appearing  anxious  to 
change  the  subject,  she  tumbled  over  two  or  three  un- 
opened letters,  as  she  cried  eagerly — 

"  Here  is  one  from  the  Donna  Julia."  The  earl  instantly 
broke  the  seal  and  read  aloud  ;  no  secrets  existing  between 
them  in  relation  to  their  mutual  friend. 

•c  MY  LORD, 

"  I  hasten  to  write  to  you  what  I  know  it  will  give  you 
pleasure  to  hear,  concerning  my  future  prospects  in  life. 
My  uncle,  General  M'Carthy,  has  written  me  the  cheerful 
tidings,  that  my  father  has  consented  to  receive  his  only 
child  without  any  other  sacrifice  than  a  condition  of  at- 
tending the  service  of  the  Catholic  Church  without  any 
professions  on  my  side,  or  even  an  understanding  that  I  am 
conforming  to  its  peculiar  tenets.  This  may  be,  in  some 


PRECA  UTION:  255 

measure,  irksome  at  times,  and  possibly  distressing ;  but 
the  worship  of  God,  with  a  proper  humiliation  of  spirit,  I 
have  learnt  to  consider  as  a  privilege  to  us  here,  and  I  owe 
a  duty  to  my  earthly  father  of  penitence  and  care  in  his 
later  years  that  will  justify  the  measure  in  the  eyes  of  my 
heavenly  One.  I  have,  therefore,  acquainted  my  uncle  in 
reply,  that  I  am  willing  to  attend  the  conde's  summons  at 
any  moment  he  will  choose  to  make  them  ;  and  I  thought 
it  a  debt  due  your  care  and  friendship  to  apprise  your  lord- 
ship of  my  approaching  departure  from  this  country  ;  in- 
deed, I  have  great  reason  for  believing  that  your  kind  and 
unremitted  efforts  to  attain  this  object  have  already  pre- 
pared you  to  expect  this  result. 

"  I  feel  it  will  be  impossible  to  quit  England  without 
seeing  you  and  your  sister,  to  thank  you  for  the  many, 
very  many  favors,  of  both  a  temporal  and  eternal  nature, 
you  have  been  the  agents  of  conferring  on  me.  The  cruel 
suggestions  which  I  dreaded,  and  which  it  appears  had 
reached  the  ears  of  my  friends  in  Spain,  have  prevented 
my  troubling  your  lordship  of  late  unnecessarily  with  my 
concerns.  The  consideration  of  a  friend  to  your  charac- 
ter (Mrs.  Wilson)  has  removed  the  necessity  of  applying 
for  your  advice  ;  she  and  her  charming  niece,  Miss  Emily 
Moseley,  have  been,  next  to  yourselves,  the  greatest  solace 
I  have  had  in  my  exile,  and  united  you  will  be  remembered 
in  my  prayers.  I  will  merely  mention  here,  deferring  the 
explanation  until  I  see  you  in  London,  that  I  have  been 
visited  by  the  wretch  from  wThom  you  delivered  me  in 
Portugal,  and  that  the  means  of  ascertaining  his  name 
have  fallen  into  my  hands.  You  will  be  the  best  judge  of 
the  proper  steps  to  be  taken  ;  but  I  wish,  by  all  means, 
something  may  be  done  to  prevent  his  attempting  to  see 
me  in  Spain.  Should  it  be  discovered  to  my  relations 
there  that  he  has  any  such  intentions  it  would  certainly 
terminate  in  his  death,  and  possibly  in  my  disgrace.  Wish- 
ing  you  and  your  kind  sister  all  possible  happiness,  I 
remain, 

"  Your  lordship's  obliged  friend, 

"  JULIA  FITZGERALD." 

"  Oh  ! "  cried  the  sister  as  she  concluded  the  letter,  "  we 
must  certainly  see  her  before  she  goes.  What  a  wretch 
that  persecutor  of  hers  must  be  !  how  persevering  in  his 
villany  !  " 

"  He  does  exceed  my  ideas  of  effrontery,"  said  the  earl, 


256  PR  EC  A  UTIOX. 

in  great  warmth — "  but  he  may  offend  too  far  ;  the  laws 
shall  interpose  their  power  to  defeat  his  schemes,  should 
he  ever  repeat  them." 

"He  attempted  to  take  your  life,  brother,"  said  the  lady, 
shuddering,  "  if  I  remember  the  tale  aright." 

"  Why,  I  have  endeavored  to  free  him  from  that  impu- 
tation," rejoined  the  brother,  musing:  "he  certainly  fired 
a  pistol,  but  the  latter  hit  my  horse  at  such  a  distance  from 
myself,  that  I  believe  his  object  was  to  disable  me  and  not 
murder.  His  escape  has  astonished  me  ;  he  must  have 
fled  by  himself  into  the  woods,  as  Harmer  was  but  a  short 
distance  behind  me,  admirably  mounted,  and  the  escort 
was  up  and  in  full  pursuit  within  ten  minutes.  After  all 
it  may  be  for  the  best  he  was  not  taken  ;  for  I  am  persuaded 
the  dragoons  \vould  have  sabred  him  on  the  spot,  and  he 
may  have  parents  of  respectability,  or  a  wife  to  kill  by  the 
knowledge  of  his  misconduct." 

"This  Emily  Moseley  must  be  a  faultless  being,"  cried 
the  sister,  as  she  ran  over  the  contents  of  Julia's  letter. 
"Three  different  letters,  and  each  containing  her  praises  !" 

The  earl  made  no  reply,  but  opening  the  duke's  letter 
again,  he  appeared  to  be  studying  its  contents.  His  color 
slightly  changed  as  he  dwelt  on  its  passages,  and  turning 
to  his  sister  he  inquired  if  she  had  a  mind  to  try  the  air 
of  Westmoreland  for  a  couple  of  weeks  or  a  month. 

"  As  you  say,  my  lord,"  replied  the  lady,  with  cheeks  of 
scarlet. 

"  Then  I  say  we  will  go.  I  wish  much  to  see  Derwent, 
and  I  think  there  will  be  a  wedding  during  our  visit." 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  the  almost  untasted  breakfast  was 
removed  in  a  few  minutes.  A  servant  announced  that  his 
horse  was  in  readiness.  The  earl  wished  his  sister  a  friendly 
good  morning,  and  proceeded  to  the  door,  where  was 
standing  one  of  the  noble  black  horses  before  mentioned, 
held  by  a  groom,  and  the  military-looking  attendant  ready 
mounted  on  another. 

Throwing  himself  into  the  saddle,  the  young  peer  rode 
gracefully  from  the  door,  followed  by  his  attendant  horse- 
man. During  this  ride,  the  master  suffered  his  steed  to 
take  whatever  course  most  pleased  himself,  and  his  follower 
looked  up  in  surprise  more  than  once,  to  see  the  careless 
manner  in  which  the  Earl  of  Pendennyss,  confessedly  one 
of  the  best  horsemen  in  England,  managed  the  noble  ani- 
mal. Having,  however,  got  without  the  gates  of  his  own 
park,  and  into  the  vicinity  of  numberless  cottage?  and 


PRECA  UTION:  257 

farm-houses,  the  master  recovered  his  recollection,  and  the 
man  ceased  to  wonder. 

For  three  hours  the  equestrians  pursued  their  course 
through  the  beautiful  vale  which  opened  gracefully  oppo- 
site one  of  the  fronts  of  the  castle ;  and  if  faces  of  smiling 
welcome,  inquiries  after  his  own  and  his  sister's  welfare, 
which  evidently  sprang  from  the  heart,  or  the  most  familiar 
but  respectful  representations  of  their  own  prosperity  or 
misfortunes,  gave  any  testimony  of  the  feelings  entertained 
by  the  tenantry  of  this  noble  estate  for  their  landlord,  the 
situation  of  the  young  nobleman  might  be  justly  considered 
envied. 

As  the  hour  for  dinner  approached,  they  turned  the 
heads  of  their  horses  toward  home  ;  and  on  entering  the 
park,  removed  from  the  scene  of  industry  and  activity 
without,  the  earl  relapsed  into  his  fit  of  musing.  A  short 
distance  from  the  house  he  suddenly  called,  "  Harmer." 
The  man  drove  his  spurs  into  the  loins  of  his  horse,  and  in 
an  instant  was  by  the  side  of  his  master,  which  he  signified 
by  raising  his  hand  to  his  cap  with  the  palm  opening  out- 
ward. 

"  You  must  prepare  to  go  to  Spain  when  required,  in 
attendance  on  Mrs.  Fitzgerald." 

The  man  received  his  order  with  the  indifference  of  one 
used  to  adventures  and  movements,  and  having  laconically 
signified  his  assent,  he  drew  his  horse  back  again  into  his 
station  in  the  rear. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE  day  succeeding  the  arrival  of  the  Moseleys  at  the 
seat  of  their  ancestors,  Mrs.  Wilson  observed  Emily  silently 
putting  on  her  pelisse,  and  walking  out  unattended  by 
either  of  the  domestics  or  any  of  the  family.  There  was  a 
peculiar  melancholy  in  her  air  and  manner,  which  inclined 
the  cautious  aunt  to  suspect  that  her  charge  was  bent  on 
the  indulgence  of  some  ill-judged  weakness  ;  more  par- 
ticularly as  the  direction  she  took  led  to  the  arbor,  a 
theatre  in  which  Denbigh  had  been  so  conspicuous  an 
actor.  Hastily  throwing  a  cloak  over  her  own  shoulders, 
Mrs.  Wilson  followed  Emily  with  the  double  purpose  of 
ascertaining  her  views,  and,  if  necessary,  of  interposing  her 
own  authority  against  the  repetition  of  similar  excursions: 

17 


258  PR  EC  A  UT1ON-. 

As  Emily  approached  the  arbor,  whither  in  truth  she 
had  directed  her  steps,  its  faded  vegetation  and  chilling 
aspect,  so  different  from  its  verdure  and  luxuriance  when 
she  last  saw  it,  came  over  her  heart  as  a  symbol  of  her  own 
blighted  prospects,  and  deadened  affections.  The  recol- 
lection of  Denbigh's  conduct  on  that  spot,  of  his  general 
benevolence  and  assuidity  to  please,  being  forcibly  recalled 
to  her  mind  at  the  instant,  forgetful  of  her  object  in  visit- 
ing the  arbor,  Emily  yielded  to  her  sensibilities,  and  sank 
on  the  seat  weeping  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

She  had  not  time  to  dry  her  eyes  and  to  collect  her  scat- 
tered thoughts,  before  Mrs.  Wilson  entered  the  arbor. 
Eyeing  her  niece  for  a  moment  with  a  sternness  unusual 
for  the  one  to  adopt  or  the  other  to  receive,  she  said — 

"  It  is  a  solemn  obligation  we  owe  our  religion  and  our- 
selves, to  endeavor  to  suppress  such  passions  as  are  in- 
compatible with  our  duties  ;  and  there  is  no  weakness 
greater  than  blindly  adhering  to  the  wrong,  when  we  are 
convinced  of  our  error.  It  is  as  fatal  to  good  morals  as  it 
is  unjust  to  ourselves  to  persevere,  from  selfish  motives,  in 
believing  those  innocent  whom  evidence  has  convicted  as 
guilty.  Many  a  weak  woman  has  sealed  her  .own  misery 
by  such  wilful  obstinacy,  aided  by  the  unpardonable  vanity 
of  believing  herself  able  to  control  a  man  that  the  laws  of 
God  could  not  restrain." 

"Oh,  dear  madam,  speak  not  so  unkindly  to  me,"  sobbed 
the  weeping  girl  ;  "  I — I  am  guilty  of  no  such  weakness,  I 
assure  you  ; "  and  looking  up  with  an  air  of  profound  resig- 
nation and  piety,  she  continued  :  "  Here  on  this  spot  where 
he  saved  my  life,  I  was  about  to  offer  up  my  prayers  for 
his  conviction  of  the  error  of  his  ways,  and  for  the  pardon 
of  his  too — too  heavy  transgressions." 

Mrs.  Wilson,  softened  almost  to  tears  herself,  viewed  hei 
for  a  moment  with  a  mixture  of  delight,  and  continued  itf 
a  milder  tone : 

"  I  believe  you,  my  dear.  I  am  certain,  although  you 
may  have  loved  Denbigh  much,  that  you  love  your  Maker 
and  his  ordinances  more  ;  and  I  have  no  apprehensions 
that,  were  he  a  disengaged  man,  and  you  alone  in  the 
world — unsupported  by  anything  but  your  sense  of  duty — 
you  would  ever  so  far  forget  yourself  as  to  become  his 
wife.  But  does  not  your  religion,  does  not  your  own  use- 
fulness in  society,  require  you  wholly  to  free  your  heart 
from  the  power  of  a  man  who  has  so  unworthily  usurped 
a,  dominion  over  it  ? " 


PRECA  UT1ON.  259 

To  this  Emily  replied,  in  a  hardly  audible  voice,  "  Cer- 
tainly— and  I  pray  constantly  for  it." 

"It  is  well,  my  love,"  said  the  aunt,  soothingly;  "you 
carmot  fail  with  such  means,  and  your  own  exertions, 
finally  to  prevail  over  your  own  worst  enemies,  your  pas- 
sions. The  task  our  sex  has  to  sustain  is,  at  the  best,  an 
arduous  one  ;  but  so  much  the  greater  is  our  credit  if  we 
do  it  well." 

"  Oh  !  how  is  an  unguided  girl  ever  to  judge  aright,  if, 
— "  cried  Emily,  clasping  her  hands  and  speaking  with 
great  energy,  and  she  would  have  said,  "one  like  Denbigh 
in  appearance,  be  so  vile  !  "  Shame,  however,  kept  her 
silent. 

"  Few  men  can  support  such  a  veil  of  hypocrisy  as  that 
with  which  I  sometimes  think  Denbigh  must  deceive  even 
himself.  His  case  is  an  extraordinary  exception  to  a  very 
sacred  rule — 'that  the  tree  is  known  by  its  fruits,'  "  replied 
her  aunt.  "  There  is  no  safer  way  of  judging  of  character 
that  one's  opportunities  will  not  admit  of  more  closely  in- 
vestigating, than  by  examining  into  and  duly  appreciating 
early  impressions.  The  man  or  woman  who  has  constantly 
seen  the  practice  of  piety  before  them,  from  infancy  to  the 
noon  of  life,  will  seldom  so  far  abandon  the  recollection  of 
virtue  as  to  be  guilty  of  great  enormities.  Even  divine 
truth  has  promised  that  His  blessings  or  His  curses  shall 
extend  to  many  generations.  It  is  true,  that  with  our  most 
guarded  prudence  we  may  be  deceived."  Mrs.  Wilson 
paused  and  sighed  heavily,  as  her  own  case,  connected 
with  the  loves  of  Denbigh  and  her  niece,  occurred  strongly 
to  her  mind. 

"  Yet,"  she  continued,  "we  may  lessen  the  danger  much 
by  guarding  against  it ;  and  it  seems  to  me  no  more  than 
what  self-preservation  requires  in  a  young  woman.  But 
for  a  religious  parent  to  neglect  it,  is  a  wilful  abandonment 
of  a  most  solemn  duty." 

As  Mrs.  Wilson  concluded,  her  niece,  who  had  recovered 
the  command  of  her  feelings,  pressed  her  hand  in  silence 
to  her  lips,  and  showed  a  disposition  to  retire  from  a  spot 
which  she  found  recalled  too  many  recollections  of  a  man 
whose  image  it  was  her  imperious  duty  to  banish,  on  every 
consideration  of  propriety  and  religion. 

Their  walk  into  the  house  was  silent,  and  their  thoughts 
were  drawn  from  the  unpleasant  topic  by  finding  a  letter 
from  Julia,  announcing  her  intended  departure  from  this 
country,  and  her  wish  to  take  leave  of  them  in  London  be- 


260  PR  EC  A  UTION: 

fore  she  sailed.  As  she  had  mentioned  the  probable  day 
for  that  event,  both  the  ladies  were  delighted  to  find  it  was 
posterior  to  the  time  fixed  by  Sir  Edward  for  their  own 
visit  to  the  capital. 

Had  Jane,  instead  of  Emily,  been  the  one  that  suffered 
through  the  agency  of  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  however  innocently 
on  the  part  of  the  lady,  her  violent  and  uncontrolled  pas- 
sions would  have  either  blindly  united  the  innocent  with 
the  guilty  in  her  resentments  ;  or,  if  a  sense  of  justice  had 
vindicated  the  lady  in  her  judgment,  yet  her  pride  and 
ill-guided  delicacy  would  have  felt  her  name  a  reproach, 
that  would  have  forbidden  any  intercourse  with  her  or 
any  belonging  to  her. 

Not  so  with  her  sister.  The  sufferings  of  Mrs.  Fitzgerald 
had  taken  a  strong  hold  on  her  youthful  feelings,  and  a 
similarity  of  opinions  and  practices  on  the  great  object  of 
their  lives,  had  brought  them  together  in  a  manner  no  mis- 
conduct in  a  third  person  could  weaken.  It  is  true,  the 
recollection  of  Denbigh  was  intimately  blended  with  the 
fate  of  Mrs.  Fitzgerald.  But  Emily  sought  support  against 
her  feelings  from  a  quarter  that  rather  required  an  investi- 
gation of  them  then  a  desire  to  drown  care  with  thought. 

She  never  indulged  in  romantic  reflections  in  which  the 
image  of  Denbigh  was  associated.  This  she  had  hardly 
done  in  her  happiest  moments  ;  and  his  marriage,  if  nothing 
else  had  interfered,  now  absolutely  put  it  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. But,  although  a  Christian,  and  an  humble  and  devout 
one,  Emily  Moseley  was  a  woman,  and  had  loved  ardently, 
confidingly,  and  gratefully.  Marriage  is  the  business  of 
life  with  her  sex, — with  all,  next  to  a  preparation  for  a 
better  world, — and  it  cannot  be  supposed  that  a  first  pas- 
sion in  a  bosom  like  that  of  our  heroine  was  to  be  suddenly 
•  erased,  and  to  leave  no  vestiges  of  its  existence. 

Her  partiality  for  the  society  of  Derwent,  her  medita- 
tions in  which  she  sometimes  detected  herself  drawing  a 
picture  of  what  Denbigh  might  have  been,  if  early  care 
had  been  taken  to  impress  him  with  his  situation  in  this 
world,  and  from  which  she  generally  retired  to  her  closet 
and  her  knees,  were  the  remains  of  feelings  too  strong  and 
too  pure  to  be  torn  from  her  in  a  moment. 

The  arrival  of  John,  with  Grace  and  Jane,  enlivened 
not  only  the  family  but  the  neighborhood.  Mr.  Haughton 
and  his  numerous  friends  poured  in  on  the  young  couple 
with  their  congratulations,  and  a  few  weeks  stole  by  in- 
sensibly, previous!/  to  the  commencement  of  the  journeys 


PRECA  UT10N.  261 

of  Sir  Edward  and  his  son,  the  one  to  Benfield  Lodge  and 
the  other  to  St.  James's  Square. 

On  the  return  of  the  travellers,  a  few  days  before  they 
commenced  their  journey  to  the  capital,  John  laughingly 
told  his  uncle  that,  although  he  himself  greatly  admired 
the  taste  of  Mr.  Peter  Johnson  in  dress,  yet  he  doubted 
whether  the  present  style  of  fashions  in  the  metropolis 
would  not  be  scandalized  by  the  appearance  of  the  honest 
steward. 

John  had  in  fact  noticed,  in  their  former  visit  to  London, 
a  mob  of  mischievous  boys  eyeing  Peter  with  indications 
of  rebellious  movements  which  threatened  the  old  man, 
and  from  which  he  had  retreated  by  taking  a  coach,  and 
he  now  made  the  suggestion  from  pure  good-nature,  to  save 
him  any  future  trouble  from  a  similar  cause. 

They  were  at  dinner  when  Moseley  made  the  remark, 
and  the  steward  was  in  his  place  at  the  sideboard — for 
his  master  was  at  home.  Drawing  near  at  the  mention 
of  his  name  first,  and  casting  an  eye  over  his  figure  to  see 
if  all  was  decent,  Peter  respectfully  broke  silence,  deter- 
mined to  defend  his  own  cause. 

"Why  !  Mr.  John — Mr.  John  Moseley  !  if  I  might  judge, 
for  an  elderly  man,  and  a  serving  man,"  said  the  steward, 
bowing  humbly,  "  I  am  no  disparagement  to  my  friends,  or 
even  to  my  honored  master." 

Johnson's  vindication  of  his  wardrobe  drew  the  eyes  of 
the  family  upon  him,  and  an  involuntary  smile  passed  from 
one  to  the  other,  as  they  admired  his  starched  figure  and 
drab  frock,  or  rather  doublet  with  sleeves  and  skirts.  Sir 
Edward  being  of  the  same  opinion  with  his  son,  ob- 
served— 

"  I  do  think,  Uncle  Benfield,  there  might  be  an  improve- 
ment in  the  dress  of  your  steward  without  much  trouble 
to  the  ingenuity  of  his  tailor." 

"Sir  Edward  Moseley — honorable  sir,"  said  the  steward, 
beginning  to  grow  alarmed,  "  if  I  may  be  so  bold,  you 
young  gentlemen  may  like  gay  clothes  ;  but  as  for  me  and 
his  honor,  we  are  used  to  such  as  we  wear,  and  what  we 
are  used  to  we  love." 

The  old  man  spoke  with  earnestness,  and  drew  the  par- 
ticular attention  of  his  master  to  a  review  of  his  attire. 
After  reflecting  that  no  gentleman  in  the  house  had  been 
attended  by  any  servitor  in  such  a  garb,  Mr.  Benfield 
thought  it  time  to  give  his  sentiments  on  the  subject. 

"  Why,  I  remember  that  my  Lord  Gosford's  gentleman 


262  PR  EC  A  UTIOW. 

never  wore  a  livery,  nor  can  I  say  that  he  dressed  exactly 
after  the  manner  of  Johnson.  Every  member  had  his  body 
servant,  and  they  were  not  unfrequently  taken  for  their 
masters.  Lady  Juliana,  too,  after  the  death  of  her  nephew, 
had  one  or  two  attendants  out  of  livery,  and  in  a  different 
fashion  from  your  attire.  Peter,  I  think  with  John  Mose- 
ley  there,  we  must  alter  you  a  little  for  the  sake  of  appear- 
ance." 

"Your  honor!  "  stammered  out  Peter,  in  increased  ter- 
ror ;  "  for  Mr.  John  Moseley  and  Sir  Edward,  and  young- 
erly  gentlemen  like,  dress  may  do.  Now,  your  honor, 
if —  "  and  Peter,  turning  to  Grace,  bowed  nearly  to  the 
floor — "  I  had  such  a  sweet,  most  beautiful  young  lady  to 
smile  on  me,  I  might  wish  to  change  ;  but,  sir,  my  day  has 
gone  by."  Peter  sighed  as  the  recollection  of  Patty  Steele 
and  his  youthful  love  floated  across  his  brain.  Grace 
blushed  and  thanked  him  for  the  compliment,  and  gave 
her  opinion  that  his  gallantry  merited  a  better  costume. 

"  Peter,"  said  his  master,  decidedly,  "  I  think  Mrs. 
Moseley  is  right.  If  I  should  call  on  the  viscountess  (the 
Lady  Juliana,  who  yet  survived,  an  ancient  dowager  of 
seventy),  I  shall  want  your  attendance,  and  in  your  pres- 
ent garb  you  cannot  fail  to  shock  her  delicate  feelings. 
You  remind  me  now  I  think,  every  time  I  look  at  you,  of 
old  Harry,  the  earl's  gamekeeper,  one  of  the  most  cruel 
men  I  ever  knew." 

This  decided  the  matter.  Peter  well  knew  that  his  mas- 
ter's antipathy  to  old  Harry  arose  from  his  having  pur- 
sued a  poacher  one  day,  in  place  of  helping  the  Lady 
Juliana  over  a  stile,  in  her  flight  from  a  bull  that  was 
playing  his  gambols  in  the  same  field  ;  and  not  for  the 
world  would  the  faithful  steward  retain  even  a  feature,  if 
it  brought  unpleasant  recollections  to  his  kind  master.  He 
at  one  time  thought  of  closing  his  innovations  on  his  ward- 
robe, however,  with  a  change  of  his  nether  garment  ;  as, 
after  a  great  deal  of  study,  he  could  only  make  out  the  re- 
semblance between  himself  and  the  obnoxious  gamekeeper 
to  consist  in  the  leathern  breeches.  But  fearful  of  some 
points  escaping  his  memory  in  forty  years,  he  tamely  ac- 
quiesced in  all  John's  alterations,  and  appeared  at  his 
station  three  days  afterward  newly  decked  from  head  to 
foot  in  a  more  modern  suit  of  snuff-color. 

The  change  once  made,. Peter  greatly  admired  himself 
in  a  glass,  and  thought,  could  he  have  had  the  taste  of  Mr. 
John  Mosciey  in  his  youth  to  direct  his  toilet,  that  the 


PRECA  UTION-.  263 

hard  heart  of  Patty  Steele  would  not  always  have  con- 
tinued so  obdurate. 

Sir  Edward  wished  to  collect  his  neighbors  round  him 
once  more  before  he  left  them  for  another  four  months  : 
and  accordingly  the  rector  and  his  wife,  Francis  and 
Clara,  the  Haughtons,  with  a  few  others,  dined  at  the  Hall 
by  invitation,  the  last  day  of  their  stay  in  Northampton- 
shire. The  company  had  left  the  table  to  join  the  ladies, 
when  Grace  came  into  the  drawing-room  with  a  face  cov- 
ered with  smiles  and  beaming  with  pleasure. 

"You  look  like  the  bearer  of  good  news,  Mrs.  Moseley," 
cried  the  rector,  catching  a  glimpse  of  her  countenance  as 
she  passed. 

"  Good  !  I  sincerely  hope  and  believe,"  replied  Grace. 
"  My  letters  from  my  brother  announce  that  his  marriage 
took  place  last  week,  and  give  us  hopes  of  seeing  them  all 
in  town  within  the  month." 

"  Married  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Haughton,  casting  his  eyes 
unconsciously  on  Emily,  "  my  Lord  Chatterton  married  ! 
May  I  ask  the  name  of  the  bride,  my  dear  Mrs.  Moseley  ? " 

"  To  Lady  Harriet  Denbigh — and  at  Denbigh  Castle  in 
Westmoreland  ;  but  very  privately,  as  you  may  suppose 
from  seeing  Moseley  and  myself  here,"  answered  Grace, 
her  cheeks  yet  glowing  with  surprise  and  pleasure  at  the 
intelligence. 

"  Lady  Harriet  Denbigh? "  echoed  Mr.  Haughton ;  "  what ! 
a  kinswoman  of  our  old  friend  ?  your  friend,  Miss  Emily  ? " 
the  recollection  of  the  service  he  had  performed  at  the 
arbor  still  fresh  in  his  memory. 

Emily  commanded  herself  sufficiently  to  reply,  "  Broth- 
ers' children,  I  believe,  sir." 

''But  a  lady — how  came  she  my  lady  ?"  continued  the 
good  man,  anxious  to  know  the  whole,  and  ignorant  of 
any  reasons  for  delicacy  where  so  great  a  favorite  as  Den- 
bigh was  in  the  question. 

"  She  is  the  daughter  of  the  late  Duke  of  Derwent," 
said  Mrs.  Moseley,  as  willing  as  himself  to  talk  of  her  new 
sister. 

"  How  happens  it  that  the  death  of  old  Mr.  Denbigh 
was  announced  as  plain  George  Denbigh,  Esq.,  if  he  was 
a  brother  of  a  duke  ? "  said  Jane,  forgetting,  for  a  moment, 
the  presence  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Ives,  in  her  surviving  passion 
for  genealogy  ;  "  should  he  not  have  been  called  Lord 
George,  or  honorable  ?  " 

This  was  the  first  time  any  allusion  had  been  made  to 


264  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

the  sudden  death  in  the  church  by  any  of  the  Moseleys  in 
the  hearing  of  the  rector's  family  ;  and  the  speaker  sat  in 
breathless  terror  at  her  own  inadvertancy.  But  Dr.  Ives, 
observing  that  a  profound  silence  prevailed  as  soon  as 
Jane  ended,  answered  mildly,  though  in  a  way  to  prevent 
any  further  comment — 

"The  late  duke's  succeeding  a  cousin-german  in  the 
title,  was  the  reason,  I  presume.  Emily,  I  am  to  hear 
from  you  by  letter,  I  hope,  after  you  enter  into  the  gaye- 
ties  of  the  metropolis  ?  " 

This  Emily  cheerfully  promised,  and  the  conversation 
took  another  turn. 

Mrs.  Wilson  had  carefully  avoided  all  communications 
with  the  rector  concerning  his  youthful  friend,  and  the 
doctor  appeared  unwilling  to  commence  anything  which 
might  lead  to  his  name  being  mentioned.  "  He  is  disap- 
pointed in  him  as  well  as  ourselves,"  thought  the  widow, 
"  and  it  must  be  unpleasant  to  have  his  image  recalled. 
He  saw  his  attentions  to  Emily,  and  he  knows  of  his  mar- 
riage to  Lady  Laura,  of  course,  and  he  loves  us  all, 
and  Emily  in  particular,  too  well  not  to  feel  hurt  by  his 
conduct." 

"  Sir  Edward ! "  cried  Mr.  Haughton,  with  a  laugh, 
"baronets  are  likely  to  be  plenty.  Have  you  heard  how 
near  we  were  to  have  another  in  the  neighborhood  lately  ?  " 

Sir  Edward  answered  in  the  negative,  and  his  neighbor 
continued — 

"  Why,  no  less  a  man  than  Captain  Jarvis,  promoted  to 
the  bloody  hand." 

"  Captain  Jarvis  ! "  exclaimed  five  or  six  at  once  ;  "  ex- 
plain yourself,  Mr.  Haughton." 

"My  near  neighbor,  young  Walker,  has  been  to  Bath  on 
an  unusual  business — his  health — and  for  the  benefit  of  the 
country  he  has  brought  back  a  pretty  piece  of  scandal. 
It  seems  that  Lady  Jarvis,  as  I  am  told  she  is  since  she 
left  here,  wished  to  have  her  hopeful  heir  made  a  lord, 
and  that  the  two  united  for  some  six  months  in  forming  a 
kind  of  savings  bank  between  themselves,  to  enable  them 
at  some  future  day  to  bribe  the  minister  to  honor  the 
peerage  with  such  a  prodigy.  After  a  while  the  daughter 
of  our  late  acquaintance,  Sir  William  Harris,  became  an 
accessory  to  the  plot,  and  a  contributor,  too,  to  the  tune 
of  a  couple  of  hundred  pounds.  Some  circumstances, 
however,  at  length  made  this  latter  lady  suspicious,  and 
she  wished  to  audit  the  books.  The  captain  prevaricated 


PRECA  UTION.  265 

—the  lady  remonstrated,  until  the  gentleman,  with  more 
truth  than  manners,  told  her  that  she  was  a  fool — the 
money  he  had  expended  or  lost  at  dice  ;  and  that  he  did 
not  think  the  ministers  quite  so  siily  as  to  make  him  a 
lord,  or  that  he  himself  was  such  a  fool  as  to  make  her  his 
wife  :  so  the  whole  thing  exploded." 

John  listened  with  a  delight  but  little  short  of  what  he 
had  felt  when  Grace  owned  her  love,  and  anxious  to  know 
all,  eagerly  inquired — 

"  But  is  it  true  ?     How  was  it  found  out  ?" 

"  Oh,  the  lady  complained  of  part,  and  the  captain  tells 
all  to  get  the  laugh  on  his  side  ;  so  that  Walker  says  the 
former  is  the  derision,  and  the  latter  the  contempt  of  all 
Bath." 

"  Poor  Sir  William,"  said  the  baronet,  with  feeling ; 
"he  is  much  to  be  pitied." 

"  I  am  afraid  he  has  nothing  to  blame  but  his  own  in- 
dulgence," remarked  the  rector. 

"You  don't  know  the  worst  of  it,"  replied  Mr.  Haugh- 
ton.  "  We  poor  people  are  made  to  suffer — Lady  Jarvis 
wept  and  fretted  Sir  Timo  out  of  his  lease,  which  has  been 
given  up,  and  a  new  house  is  to  be  taken  in  another  part 
of  the  kingdom,  where  neither  Miss  Harris  nor  the  story 
is  known." 

"  Then  Sir  William  has  to  procure  a  new  tenant,"  said 
Lady  Moseley,  not  in  the  least  regretting  the  loss  of  the 
old  one. 

,  "No!  my  lady!"  continued  Mr.  Haughton,  with  a 
smile.  "Walker  is,  you  know,  an  attorney,  and  does  some 
business  occasionally  for  Sir  William.  When  Jarvis  gave 
up  the  lease,  the  baronet,  who  finds  himself  a  little  short 
of  money,  offered  the  deanery  for  sale,  it  being  a  useless 
place  to  him  ;  and  the  very  next  day,  while  Walker  was 
with  Sir  William,  a  gentleman  called,  and  without  hig- 
gling agreed  to  pay  down  at  once  his  thirty  thousand 
pounds  for  it." 

"And  who  is  the  purchaser?"  inquired  Lady  Moseley, 
eagerly. 

"The  Earl  of  Pendennyss." 

"  Lord  Pendennyss  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilson,  in  rapture. 

"  Pendennyss  ! "  cried  the  rector,  eyeing  the  aunt  and 
Emily  with  a  smile. 

"  Pendennyss  !  "  echoed  all  in  the  room  in  amazement. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Haughton,  "it  is  now  the  property  of 
the  earl,  who  says  he  has  bought  it  for  his  sister." 


266  PRE  CA  UT1  ON. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

MRS.  WILSON  found  time  the  ensuing  day  to  ascertain, 
before  they  left  the  hall,  the  truth  of  the  tale  related  by 
Mr.  Haughton.  The  deanery  had  certainly  changed  its 
master,  and  a  new  steward  had  already  arrived  to  take 
possession  in  the  name  of  his  lord.  What  induced  Pen- 
dennyss  to  make  this  purchase  she  was  at  loss  to  conceive 
— most  probably  some  arrangement  between  himself  and 
Lord  Bolton.  But  whatever  might  be  his  motive,  it  in 
some  measure  insured  his  becoming  for  a  season  their 
neighbor  ;  and  Mrs.  Wilson  felt  a  degree  of  pleasure  at 
the  circumstance  that  she  had  been  a  stranger  to  for  a  long 
time — a  pleasure  which  was  greatly  heightened  as  she 
dwelt  on  the  lovely  face  of  the  companion  who  occupied 
the  other  seat  in  her  travelling  chaise. 

The  road  to  London  led  by  the  gates  of  the  deanery, 
and  near  them  they  passed  a  servant  in  the  livery  of  those 
they  had  once  seen  following  the  equipage  of  the  earl. 
Anxious  to  know  anything  which  might  hasten  her  ac- 
quaintance with  this  admired  nobleman,  Mrs.  Wilson 
stopped  her  carriage  to  inquire. 

"  Pray,  sir,  whom  do  you  serve  ? " 

"  My  Lord  Pendennyss,  ma'am,"  replied  the  man,  re- 
spectfully taking  off  his  hat. 

"The  earl  is  not  here?"  asked  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  in- 
terest. 

"  Oh  no,  madam  ;  I  am  here  in  waiting  on  his  steward. 
My  lord  is  in  Westmoreland,  with  his  grace  and  Colonel 
Denbigh,  and  the  ladies." 

"  Does  he  remain  there  long  ? "  continued  the  anxious 
widow,  desirous  of  knowing  all  she  could  learn. 

"  I  believe  not,  madam  ;  most  of  our  people  have  gone 
to  Annerdale  House,  and  my  lord  is  expected  in  town  with 
the  duke  and  the  colonel." 

As  the  servant  was  an  elderly  man,  and  appeared  to  un- 
derstand the  movements  of  his  master  so  well,  Mrs.  Wilson 
was  put  in  unusual  spirits  by  this  prospect  of  a  speedy  ter- 
mination to  her  anxiety  to  meet  Pendennyss. 

"  Annerdale  House  is  the  earl's  town  residence  ? "  quietly 
inquired  Emily. 

"  Yes  ;  he  got  the  fortune  of  the  last  duke  of  that  title, 
but  how  I  do  not  exactly  know.  I  believe,  however, 


PRECA  UTION;  267 

through  his  mother.  General  Wilson  did  not  know  his 
family  ;  indeed,  Pendennyss  bore  a  second  title  during  his 
lifetime.  But  did  you  observe  how  very  civil  his  servant 
was,  as  well  as  the  one  John  spoke  to  before, — a  sure  sign 
their  master  is  a  gentleman  ! " 

Emily  smiled  at  the  strong  partialities  of  her  aunt,  and 
replied,  "  Your  handsome  chaise  and  attendants  will  draw 
respect  from  most  men  in  his  situation,  dear  aunt,  be  their 
masters  who  they  may." 

The  expected  pleasure  of  meeting  the  earl  was  a  topic 
frequently  touched  upon  between  her  aunt  and  Emily 
during  their  journey  ;  the  former  beginning  to  entertain 
hopes  she  would  have  laughed  at  herself  for,  could  they 
have  been  fairly  laid  before  her  ;  and  the  later  entertaining 
a  profound  respect  for  his  character,  but  chiefly  governed 
by  a  wish  to  gratify  her  companion. 

The  third  day  they  reached  the  baronet's  handsome 
house  in  St.  James's  Square,  and  found  that  the  forethought 
of  John  had  provided  everything  in  the  best  and  most 
comfortable  manner. 

It  was  the  first  visit  of  both  Jane  and  Emily  to  the  me- 
tropolis ;  and  under  the  protection  of  their  almost  equally 
curious  mother,  and  escorted  by  John,  they  wisely  deter- 
mined to  visit  the  curiosities,  while  their  leisure  yet  ad- 
mitted of  the  opportunity.  For  the  first  two  weeks  their 
time  was  chiefly  employed  in  the  indulgence  of  this  un- 
fashionable and  vulgar  propensity,  which  if  it  had  no 
other  tendency,  served  greatly  to  draw  the  thoughts  of 
both  the  young  women  from  the  recollections  of  the  last 
few  months. 

While  her  sister  and  nieces  were  thus  employed,  Mrs. 
Wilson,  assisted  by  Grace,  was  occupied  in  getting  things 
in  preparation  to  do  credit  to  the  baronet's  hospitality. 

The  second  week  after  their  arrival,  Mrs.  Moseley  was 
delighted  by  seeing  advance  upon  her  unexpectedly 
through  the  door  of  the  breakfast  parlor,  her  brother, 
with  his  bride  leaning  on  his  arm.  After  the  most  sincere 
greetings  and  congratulations,  Lady  Chatterton  cried  out 
gayly  : 

"  You  see,  my  dear  Lady  Moseley,  I  am  determined  to 
banish  ceremony  between  us,  and  so,  instead  of  sending 
you  my  card,  have  come  myself  to  notify  you  of  my  arrival. 
Chatterton  would  not  suffer  me  even  to  swallow  my  break- 
fast, he  was  so  impatient  to  show  me  off." 

"  You  are  placing  things  exactly  on  the  footing  I  wish 


268  PRECA  UTION. 

to  see  ourselves  with  all  our  connections,"  replied  Lady 
Moseley,  kindly  ;  "  but  what  have  you  done  with  the 
duke  ?  is  he  not  in  your  train  ? " 

"  Oh  !  he  is  gone  to  Canterbury  with  George  Denbigh, 
madam,"  cried  the  lady,  shaking  her  head  reproachfully 
though  affectionately  at  Emily  ;  "  his  grace  dislikes  Lon- 
don just  now  excessively,  he  says,  and  the  colonel  being 
obliged  to  leave  his  wife  on  regimental  business,  Derwent 
was  good  enough  to  keep  him  company  during  his  exile." 

"And  Lady  Laura,  do  we  see  her?"  inquired  Lady 
Moseley. 

"  She  came  with  us.  Pendennyss  and  his  sister  follow 
immediately  ;  so,  my  dear  madam,  the  dramatis  personae 
will  all  be  on  the  stage  soon." 

Cards  and  visits  now  began  to  accumulate  on  the  Mose- 
leys,  and  their  time  no  longer  admitted  of  that  unfettered 
leisure  which  they  had  enjoyed  at  their  entrance  on  the 
scene.  Mrs.  Wilson,  for  herself  and  charge,  adopted  a 
rule  for  the  government  of  her  manner  of  living,  which 
was  consistent  with  her  duties.  They  mixed  in  general 
society  sparingly  ;  and,  above  all,  they  rigidly  adhered  to 
the  obedience  to  the  injunction  which  commanded  them 
to  keep  the  Sabbath  day  holy  ;  a  duty  of  no  trifling  diffi- 
culty to  perform  in  fashionable  society  in  the  city  of  Lon- 
don, or,  indeed,  in  any  other  place,  where  the  influence  of 
fashion  has  supplanted  the  laws  of  God. 

Mrs.  Wilson  was  not  a  bigot  ;  but  she  knew  and  per- 
formed her  duty  rigidly.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  her  to  do  so. 
It  would  have  been  misery  to  do  otherwise.  In  the  single- 
ness of  heart  and  deep  piety  of  her  niece,  she  had  a  willing 
pupil  to  her  system  of  morals  and  a  rigid  follower  of  her 
religious  practices.  As  they  both  knew  that  the  tempta- 
tions to  go  astray  were  greater  in  town  than  in  country, 
they  kept  a  strict  guard  over  the  tendency  to  err,  and  in 
watchfulness  found  their  greatest  security. 

John  Moseley,  next  to  his  friends,  loved  his  bays  :  in- 
deed, if  the  aggregate  of  his  affections  for  these  and  Lady 
Herrieiield  had  been  put  in  opposite  scales,  we  strongly 
suspect  the  side  of  the  horses  would  predominate. 

One  Sunday,  soon  after  being  domesticated,  John,  who 
had  soberly  attended  morning  service  with  the  ladies,  came 
into  a  little  room  where  the  more  reflecting  part  of  the 
family  were  assembled,  in  search  of  his  wife. 

Grace,  we  have  before  mentioned,  had  become  a  real 
member  of  that  church  in  which  she  had  been  educated, 


PRECA  UTION.  269 

and  had  entered,  under  the  direction  of  Dr.  Ives  and  Mrs. 
Wilson,  into  an  observance  of  its  wholesome  ordinances. 
Grace  was  certainly  piously  inclined,  if  not  devout.  Her 
feelings  on  the  subject  of  religion  had  been  sensibly 
awakened  during  their  voyage  to  Lisbon  ;  and  at  the  period 
of  which  we  write,  Mrs.  Moseley  was  as  sincerely  disposed 
to  perform  her  duty  as  her  powers  admitted.  To  the  re- 
quest of  her  husband,  that  she  would  take  a  seat  in  his 
phaeton  while  he  drove  her  round  the  park  once  or  twice, 
Grace  gave  a  mild  refusal,  by  saying, 

"  It  is  Sunday,  my  dear  Moseley." 

"  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  that  ? "  cried  John,  gayly. 
"  There  will  be  everybody  there,  and  the  better  day,  the 
better  deed." 

Now,  Moseley,  if  he  had  been  asked  to  apply  this  speech 
to  the  case  before  them,  would  have  frankly  owned  his  in- 
ability ;  but  his  wife  did  not  make  the  trial  :  she  was  con- 
tented with  saying,  as  she  laid  down  her  book  to  look  on 
a  face  she  so  tenderly  loved, 

"  Ah  !  Moseley,  you  should  set  a  better  example  to  those 
below  you  in  life." 

"  I  wish  to  set  an  example,"  returned  her  husband,  with 
an  affectionate  smile,  "  to  all  above  as  well  as  below  me,  in 
order  that  they  may  find  out  the  path  to  happiness,  by  ex- 
hibiting to  the  world  a  model  of  a  wife  in  yourself,  dear 
Grace." 

As  this  was  uttered  with  a  sincerity  which  distinguished 
the  manner  of  Moseley,  his  wife  was  more  pleased  with 
the  compliment  than  she  would  have  been  willing  to  make 
known  ;  and  John  spoke  no  more  than  he  thought  ;  for  a 
desire  to  show  his  handsome  wife  was  the  ruling  passion 
for  a  moment. 

The  husband  was  too  pressing  and  the  wife  too  fond  not 
to  yield  the  point  ;  and  Grace  took  her  seat  in  the  carriage 
with  a  kind  of  half-formed  resolution  to  improve  the  op- 
portunity by  a  discourse  on  serious  subjects — a  resolution 
which  terminated  as  all  others  do,  that  postpone  one 
duty  to  discharge  another  of  less  magnitude  ;  it  was  for- 
gotten. 

Mrs.  Wilson  had  listened  with  interest  to  the  efforts  of 
John  to  prevail  on  his  wife  to  take  the  ride,  and  on  her 
leaving  the  room  to  comply  she  observed  to  Emily,  with 
whom  she  now  remained  alone — 

"  Here  is  a  consequence  of  a  difference  in  religious 
views  between  man  and  wife,  my  child  :  John,  in  place  of 


270  PRECA  UTION-. 

supporting  Grace  in  the  discharge  of  her  duties,  has  been 
the  actual  cause  of  her  going  astray." 

Emily  felt  the  force  of  her  aunt's  remark,  and  saw  its 
justice  ;  yet  her  love  for  the  offender  induced  her  to  say — 

"John  will  not  lead  her  openly  astray,  for  he  has  a  sin- 
cere respect  for  religion,  and  this  offence  is  not  unpardon- 
able, dear  aunt." 

"  The  offence  is  assuredly  not  unpardonable,"  replied 
Mrs.  Wilson,  "  and  to  infinite  mercy  it  is  hard  to  say  what 
is  ;  but  it  is  an  offence,  and  directly  in  the  face  of  an  ex- 
press ordinance  of  the  Lord  ;  it  is  even  throwing  off  the  ap- 
fiearanceoi  keepingthe  Sabbath  day  holy,  much  less  observ- 
ing the  substance  of  the  commandment  ;  and  as  to  John's 
respect  for  holy  things  in  this  instance,  it  was  injurious  to 
his  wife.  Had  he  been  an  open  deist  she  would  have 
shrunk  from  the  act  in  suspicion  of  its  sinfulness.  Either 
John  must  become  a  Christian,  or  I  am  afraid  Grace  will 
fall  from  her  undertaking." 

Mrs.  Wilson  shook  her  head  mournfully,  while  Emily 
offered  up  a  silent  petition  that  the  first  might  speedily  be 
the  case. 

Lady  Laura  had  been  early  in  her  visit  to  the  Moseleys  ; 
and  as  Denbigh  had  both  a  town  residence  and  a  seat  in 
parliament,  it  appeared  next  to  impossible  to  avoid  meet- 
ing him  or  to  requite  the  pressing  civilities  of  his  wife  by 
harsh  refusals,  that  might  prove  in  the  end  injurious  to 
themselves  by  creating  a  suspicion  that  resentment  at  his 
not  choosing  a  partner  from  among  them,  governed  the 
conduct  of  the  Moseleys  toward  a  man  to  whom  they  were 
under  such  a  heavy  obligation. 

Had  Sir  Edward  known  as  much  as  his  sister  and  daugh- 
ters, he  would  probably  have  discountenanced  the  ac- 
quaintance altogether  ;  but  owing  to  the  ignorance  of  the 
rest  of  her  friends  of  what  had  passed,  Mrs.  Wilson  and 
Emily  had  not  only  the  assiduities  of  Lady  Laura,  but  the 
wishes  of  their  own  family  to  contend  with,  and  conse- 
quently she  submitted  to  the  association  with  a  reluctance 
that  was,  in  some  measure,  counteracted  by  their  regard 
for  Lady  Laura,  and  by  compassion  for  her  abused  confi- 
dence. 

A  distant  connection  of  Lady  Moseley's  had  managed  to 
collect  in  her  house  a  few  hundred  of  her  nominal  friends, 
and  as  she  had  been  particularly  attentive  in  calling  in 
person  on  her  venerable  relative,  Mr.  Benfield,  soon  after 
his  arrival  in  town,  out  of  respect  to  her  father's  cousin, 


PRECA  UTION.  271 

or  perhaps  mindful  of  his  approaching  end,  and  remem- 
bering there  were  such  things  as  codicils  to  wills,  the  old 
man,  flattered  by  her  notice,  and  yet  too  gallant  to  reject 
the  favor  of  a  lady,  consented  to  accompany  the  remainder 
of  the  family  on  the  occasion. 

Most  of  their  acquaintances  were  there,  and  Lady  Mose- 
ley  soon  found  herself  engaged  in  a  party  at  quadrille, 
while  the  young  people  were  occupied  by  the  usual  amuse- 
ments of  their  age  in  such  scenes.  Emily  alone,  feeling 
but  little  desire  to  enter  into  the  gayety  of  general  conver- 
sation with  a  host  of  gentlemen  who  had  collected  round 
her  aunt  and  sisters,  offered  her  arm  to  Mr.  Benfield,  on 
seeing  him  manifest  a  disposition  to  take  a  closer  view  of 
the  company,  and  walked  away  with  him. 

They  wandered  from  room  to  room,  unconscious  of  the 
observation  attracted  by  the  sight  of  a  man  in  the  costume 
of  Mr.  Benfield,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  so  young  and  lovely 
a  woman  as  his  niece  ;  and  many  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise, ridicule,  admiration,  and  wonder  had  been  made, 
unnoticed  by  the  pair,  until  finding  the  crowd  rather  incon- 
venient to  her  companion,  Emily  gently  drew  him  into  one 
of  the  apartments  where  the  card-tables  and  the  general 
absence  of  beauty  made  room  less  difficult  to  be  found. 

"Ah  !  Emmy  dear,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  wiping  his 
face,  "times  are  much  changed,  I  see,  since  my  youth. 
Then  you  would  see  no  such  throngs  assembled  in  so  small 
a  space  ;  gentlemen  shoving  ladies,  and  yes,  Emmy,"  con- 
tinued her  uncle  in  a  lower  tone,  as  if  afraid  of  uttering 
something  dangerous,  "  the  ladies  themselves  shouldering 
the  men.  I  remember  at  a  drum  given  by  Lady  Gosford, 
that  although  I  may,  without  vanity,  say  I  was  one  of  the 
gallantest  men  in  the  room,  I  came  in  contact  with  but  one 
of  the  ladies  during  the  whole  evening,  with  the  exception 
of  handing  the  Lady  Juliana  to  a  chair,  and  that,"  said  her 
uncle,  stopping  short  and  lowering  his  voice  to  a  whisper, 
"was  occasioned  by  a  mischance  in  the  old  duchess  in  ris- 
ing from  her  seat  when  she  had  taken  too  much  strong 
waters,  as  she  was  at  times  a  little  troubled  with  a  pain  in 
the  chest." 

Emily  smiled  at  the  casualty  of  her  grace,  and  they  pro- 
ceeded slowly  through  the  tables  until  their  passage  was 
stopped  by  a  party  at  the  game  of  whist,  which,  by  its  in- 
congruous mixture  of  ages  and  character,  forcibly  drew 
her  attention. 

The  party  was  composed  of  a  young  man  of  five  or  six 


272  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

and  twenty,  who  threw  down  his  cards  in  careless  indif- 
ference,  and  heedlessly  played  with  the  guineas  which 
were  laid  on  the  side  of  the  table  as  markers,  or  the  fruits 
of  a  former  victory  ;  or  by  stealing  hasty  and  repeated 
glances  through  the  vista  of  the  tables  into  the  gayer 
scenes  of  the  adjoining  rooms,  proved  he  was  in  duresse, 
and  waited  for  an  opportunity  to  make  his  escape  from  the 
tedium  of  cards  and  ugliness  to  the  life  of  conversation 
and  beauty. 

His  partner  was  a  woman  of  doubtful  age,  and  one 
whose  countenance  rather  indicated  that  the  uncertainty 
was  likely  to  continue  until  the  record  of  the  tomb-stone 
divulged  the  so  often  contested  circumstance  to  the  world. 
Her  eyes  also  wandered  to  the  gayer  scenes,  but  with  an 
expression  of  censoriousness  mingled  with  longings  ;  nor 
did  she  neglect  the  progress  of  the  game  as  frequently  as 
her  more  heedless  partner.  A  glance  thrown  on  the 
golden  pair  which  was  placed  between  her  and  her  neigh- 
bor on  her  right,  marked  the  importance  of  the  corner,  and 
she  shuffled  the  cards  with  a  nervousness  which  plainly 
denoted  her  appprehension  of  the  consequences  of  her 
partner's  abstraction. 

Her  neighbor  on  the  right  was  a  man  of  sixty,  and  his 
vestments  announced  him  a  servant  of  the  sanctuary.  His 
intentness  on  the  game  proceeded,  no  doubt,  from  his 
habits  of  reflection  ;  his  smile  at  success  quite  possibly 
from  charity  to  his  neighbors  ;  his  frown  in  adversity  from 
displeasure  at  the  triumphs  of  the  wicked,  for  such  in  his 
heart  he  had  set  down  Miss  Wigram  to  be  ;  and  his  uncon- 
querable gravity  in  the  employment  from  a  profound  re- 
gard to  the  dignity  of  his  holy  office. 

The  fourth  performer  in  this  trial  of  memories  was  an 
ancient  lady,  gayly  dressed,  and  intently  eager  on  the 
game.  Between  her  and  the  young  man  was  a  large  pile 
of  guineas,  which  appeared  to  be  her  exclusive  property, 
from  which  she  repeatedly,  during  the  play,  tendered  one 
to  his  acceptance  on  the  event  of  a  hand  or  a  trick,  and  to 
which  she  seldom  failed  from  inadvertence  to  add  his  mite, 
contributing  to  accumulate  the  pile. 

"  Two  double  and  the  rub,  my  dear  doctor,"  exclaimed 
the  senior  lady,  in  triumph.  "  Sir  William,  you  owe  me 
ten." 

The  money  was  paid  as  easily  as  it  had  been  won,  and 
the  dowager  proceeded  to  settle  some  bets  with  her  female, 
antagonist 


PRECA  UTION.  273 

"  Two  more,  I  fancy,  ma'am,"  said  she,  closely  scanning 
the  contributions  of  the  maiden. 

"  I  believe  it  is  right,  my  lady,"  was  the  answer,  with  a 
look  that  said  pretty  plainly,  that  or  nothing. 

u  I  beg  pardon,  my  dear,  here  are  but  four ;  and  you 
remember  two  on  the  corner,  and  four  on  the  points. 
Doctor,  I  will  trouble  you  for  a  couple  of  guineas  from 
Miss  Wigram's  store  ;  I  am  in  haste  to  get  to  the  countess's 
route." 

The  doctor  was  coolly  helping  himself  from  the  said 
Store,  under  the  watchful  eyes  of  its  owner,  and  secretly 
exulting  in  his  own  judgment  in  requiring  the  stakes, 
when  the  maiden  replied  in  great  warmth  : 

"  Your  ladyship  forgets  the  two  you  lost  to  me  at  Mrs. 
Howard's." 

"  It  must  be  a  mistake,  my  dear,  I  always  pay  as  I  lose," 
cried  the  dowager,  with  great  spirit,  stretching  over  the 
table  and  helping  herself  to  the  disputed  money. 

Mr.  Benfield  and  Emily  had  stood  silent  spectators  of 
the  whole  scene,  the  latter  in  astonishment  to  meet  such 
manners  in  such  society,  and  the  former  under  feelings  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  describe  ;  for  in  the  face  of 
the  dowager,  which  was  inflamed  partly  from  passion  and 
more  from  high  living,  he  recognized'  the  remains  of  his 
Lady  Juliana,  now  the  Dowager  Viscountess  Haverford. 

"  Emmy,  dear,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  heavy-drawn 
sigh,  as  if  awaking  from  a  long  and  troubled  dream,  "  we 
will  go." 

The  phantom  of  forty  years  had  vanished  before  the 
truth  ;  and  the  fancies  of  retirement,  simplicity,  and  a  dis- 
eased imagination  yielded  to  the  influence  of  life  and  com- 
mon sense. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

WITH  Harriet,  now  closely  connected  with  them  by  mar- 
riage as  well  as  attachment,  the  baronet's  family  main- 
tained a  most  friendly  intercourse  ;  and  Mrs.  Wilson,  and 
Emily,  a  prodigious  favorite  with  her  new  cousin,  con- 
sented to  pass  a  day  soberly  with  her  during  an  excursion 
of  her  husband  to  Windsor  on  business  connected  with  his 
station.  They  had,  accordingly,  driven  round  to  an  early 
breakfast ;  and  Chatterton,  after  politely  regretting  his  loss, 
18 


274  PRECAUTION. 

and  thanking  t'aem  for  their  consideration   for  his  wife, 
made  his  bow. 

Lady  Harriet  Denbigh  had  brought  the  baron  a  very  sub- 
stantial addition  to  his  fortune  ;  and  as  his  sisters  were  both 
provided  for  by  ample  settlements,  the  pecuniary  distresses 
which  had  existed  a  twelvemonth  before  had  been  entirely 
removed.  Chatterton's  income  was  now  large,  his  de- 
mands upon  it  small,  and  he  kept  up  an  establishment  in 
proportion  to  the  rank  of  both  husband  and  wife. 

"  Mrs.  Wilson,"  cried  the  hostess,  twirling  her  cup  as 
she  followed  with  her  eyes  the  retreating  figure  of  her 
husband  at  the  door,  "  I  am  about  to  take  up  the  trade  of 
Miss  Harris,  and  become  a  match-maker." 

"Not  on  your  own  behalf  so  soon,  surely,"  rejoined  the 
widow. 

"  Oh,  no,  my  fortune  is  made  for  life,  or  not  at  all,"  con- 
tinued the  other,  gayly  ;  "but  in  behalf  of  our  little  friend^ 
Emily,  here." 

"  Me ! "  cried  Emily,  starting  from  a  reverie,  in  which 
the  prospect  of  happiness  to  Lady  Laura  was  the  subject  ; 
"  you  are  very  good,  Harriet ;  for  whom  do  you  intend 
me  ?" 

"  Whom  !  Who  is  good  enough  for  you,  but  my  cousin 
Pendennyss  ?  Ah  ! "  she  cried,  laughing,  as  she  caught 
Emily  by  the  hand,  "  Derwent  and  myself  both  settled  the 
matter  long  since,  and  I  know  you  will  yield  when  you 
come  to  know  him." 

"  The  duke  ! "  cried  the  other,  with  a  surprise  and  inno- 
cence that  immediately  brought  a  blush  of  the  brightest 
vermilion  into  her  face. 

"Yes,  the  duke,"  said  Lady  Chatterton.  "You  may 
think  it  odd  for  a  discarded  lover  to  dispose  of  his  mistress 
so  soon,  but  both  our  hearts  are  set  upon  it.  The  earl  ar- 
rived last  night,  and  this  day  he  and  his  sister  dine  with 
us  in  a  sober  way  :  now,  my  dear  madam,"  turning  to  Mrs. 
Wilson,  "  have  I  not  prepared  an  agreeable  surprise  for 


"  Surprise  indeed,"  said  the  widow,  excessively  gratified 
at  the  probable  termination  to  her  anxieties  for  this  meet- 
ing ;  "  but  where  are  they  from  ?  " 

"  From  Northamptonshire,  where  the  earl  has  already 
purchased  a  residence,  I  understand,  and  in  your  neigh- 
borhood too  ;'so,  you  perceive,  he  at  least  begins  to  think 
of  the  thing." 

"A  certain  evidence,   truly,"  cried   Emily,  " his  having 


PRECA  UTION*.  275 

purchased  the  house.  But  was  he  without  a  residence  that 
he  bought  the  deanery  ? " 

"  Oh  no  !  he  has  a  palace  in  town,  and  three  seats  in  the 
country  ;  but  none  in  Northamptonshire  but  this,"  said  the 
lady,  with  a  laugh.  "  To  own  the  truth,  he  did  offer  to  let 
George  Denbigh  have  it  for  the  next  summer,  but  the 
colonel  chose  to  be  nearer  Eltringham  ;  and  I  take  it,  it 
was  only  a  ruse  in  the  earl  to  cloak  his  own  designs.  You 
may  depend  upon  it,  we  trumpeted  your  praises  to  him  in- 
cessantly in  Westmoreland." 

"  And  is  Colonel  Denbigh  in  town  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Wilson, 
stealing  an  anxious  glance  toward  her  niece,  who,  in  spite 
of  all  her  efforts,  sensibly  changed  color. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  and  Laura  is  as  happy — as  happy — as  my- 
self," said  Lady  Chatterton,  with  a  glow  on  her  cheeks,  as 
she  attended  to  the  request  of  her  housekeeper,  and  left 
the  room. 

Her  guests  sat  in  silence,  occupied  with  their  own  re- 
flections, while  they  heard  a  summons  at  the  door  of  the 
house.  It  was  opened,  and  footsteps  approached  the  door 
of  their  own  room.  It  was  pushed  partly  open,  as  a  voice 
on  the  other  side  said,  speaking  to  a  servant  without,— 

"  Very  well.  Do  not  disturb  your  lady  ;  I  am  in  no 
haste." 

At  the  sound  of  its  well-known  tones,  both  the  ladies  al- 
most sprang  from  their  seats.  Here  could  be  no  resem- 
blance, and  a  moment  removed  their  doubts.  The  speaker 
entered — it  wras  Denbigh. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  fixed  as  a  statue.  It  was  evident 
the  surprise  was  mutual.  His  face  wras  pale  as  death,  and 
then  instantly  was  succeeded  by  a  glow  of  fire.  Approach- 
ing them,  he  paid  his  compliments  with  great  earnestness, 
and  in  a  voice  in  which  his  softest  tones  preponderated. 

"  I  am  happy,  very  happy,  to  be  so  fortunate  in  again 
meeting  with  such  friends,  and  so  unexpectedly." 

Mrs.  Wilson  bowed  in  silence  to  his  compliment,  and 
Emily,  pale  as  himself,  sat  with  her  eyes  fastened  on  the 
carpet,  without  daring  to  trust  her  voice  with  an  attempt 
to  speak. 

After  struggling  with  his  mortified  feelings  for  a  mo- 
ment, Denbigh  rose  from  the  chair  he  had  taken,  and 
drawing  near  the  sofa  on  which  the  ladies  were  placed, 
exclaimed  with  fervor, — 

"Tell  me,  dear  madam,  lovely,  too  lovely  Miss  Moseley, 
has  one  act  of  folly,  of  wickedness  if  you  please,  lost  me 


276  PRECA  UTION". 

your  good  opinion  for  ever  ?  Derwent  had  given  me  hopes 
that  you  yet  retained  some  esteem  for  my  character,  lowered, 
as  I  acknowledge  it  to  be,  in  my  own  estimation  ? " 

"  The  duke  of  Derwent  ?  Mr.  Denbigh  !  " 

"  Do  not,  do  not  use  a  name,  dear  madam,  almost  hateful 
to  me,"  cried  he,  in  a  tone  of  despair. 

"  If,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  gravely,  "  you  have  made  your 
own  name  disreputable,  I  can  only  regret  it,  but " — 

"Call  me  by  my  title — oh!  do  not  remind  me  of  my 
folly  ;  I  cannot  bear  it,  and  from  you." 

"  Your  title  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  a  cry  of  won- 
der, and  Emily  turned  on  him  a  face  in  which  the  flashes 
of  color  and  succeeding  paleness  were  as  quick,  and  al- 
most as  vivid,  as  the  glow  of  lightning.  He  caught  their 
astonishment  in  equal  surprise. 

"  How  is  this  ?  some  dreadful  mistake,  of  which  I  am 
yet  in  ignorance,"  he  cried,  taking  the  unresisting  hand  of 
Mrs.  Wilson,  and  pressing  it  with  warmth  between  both 
his  own,  as  he  added,  "  do  not  leave  me  in  suspense." 

"  For  the  sake  of  truth,  for  my  sake,  for  the  sake  of  this 
suffering  innocent,  say,  in  sincerity,  who  and  what  you  are," 
said  Mrs.  Wilson  in  a  solemn  voice,  gazing  on  him  in  dread 
of  his  reply. 

Still  retaining  her  hand,  he  dropped  on  his  knees  before 
her,  as  he  answered, — 

"  I  am  the  pupil,  the  child  of  your  late  husband,  the 
companion  of  his  dangers,  the  sharer  of  his  joys  and  griefs, 
and  would  I  could  add,  the  friend  of  his  widow.  I  am  the 
Earl  of  Pendennyss." 

Mrs.  Wilson's  head  dropped  on  the  shoulders  of  the 
kneeling  youth,  her  arms  were  thrown  in  fervor  around 
his  neck,  and  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  For  a  mo- 
ment, both  were  absorbed  in  their  own  feelings  ;  but  a  cry 
from  Pendennyss  aroused  the  aunt  to  the  situation  of  her 
niece. 

Emily  had  fallen  senseless  on  the  sofa. 

An  hour  elapsed  before  her  engagements  admitted  of 
the  return  of  Lady  Chatterton  to  the  breakfast  parlor, 
where  she  was  surprised  to  find  the  breakfast  equipage 
yet  standing,  and  her  cousin,  the  earl.  Looking  from  one 
to  the  other  in  surprise,  she  exclaimed, — 

"  Very  sociable,  upon  my  word  ;  how  long  has  your  lord- 
ship honored  my  house  with  your  presence,  and  have  you 
taken  the  liberty  to  introduce  yourself  to  Mrs.  Wilson  and 
Miss  Moseley  ?" 


PRECA  UT10N-.  277 

"  Sociability  and  ease  are  the  fashion  of  the  day.  I  have 
been  here  an  hour,  my  dear  coz,  and  have  taken  the  liberty 
of  introducing  myself  to  Mrs.  Wilson  and  Miss  Moseley," 
replied  the  earl  gravely,  although  a  smile  of  meaning 
lighted  his  handsome  features  as  he  uttered  the  latter  part 
of  the  sentence,  which  was  returned  by  Emily  with  a  look 
of  archness  and  pleasure  that  would  have  graced  her  hap- 
piest moments  of  juvenile  joy. 

There  was  such  an  interchange  of  looks,  and  such  a  vis- 
ible alteration  in  the  appearance  of  her  guests,  that  it 
could  not  but  attract  the  notice  of  Lady  Chatterton.  After 
listening  to  the  conversation  between  them  for  some  time 
in  silence,  and  wondering  what  could  have  wrought  so 
sudden  a  change  below  stairs,  she  broke  forth  with  say- 
ing,— 

"  Upon  my  word,  you  are  an  incomprehensible  party  to 
me.  I  left  you  ladies  alone,  and  find  a  gentleman  with 
you.  I  left  you  grave,  if  not  melancholy,  and  find  you 
all  life  and  gayety.  I  find  you  with  a  stranger,  and  you 
talk  with  him  about  walks,  and  rides,  and  scenes,  and  ac- 
quaintances. Will_y<7«,  madam,  or  you,  my  lord,  be  so  kind 
as  to  explain  these  seeming  inconsistencies  ?  " 

"No,"  cried  the  earl,  "to  punish  your  curiosity,  I  will 
keep  you  in  ignorance  ;  but  Marian  is  in  waiting  for  me 
at  your  neighbor's,  Mrs.  Wilmot,  and  I  must  hasten  to  her 
— you  will  see  us  both  by  five."  Rising  from  his  seat  he 
took  the  offered  hand  of  Mrs.  Wilson  and  pressed  it  to  his 
lips.  To  Emily  he  also  extended  his  hand,  and  received 
hers  in  return,  though  with  a  face  suffused  with  the  color 
of  the  rose.  Pendennyss  held  it  to  his  heart  for  a  mo- 
ment with  fervor,  and  kissing  it,  precipitately  left  the 
room.  Emily  concealed  her  face  with  her  hands,  and, 
dissolving  in  tears,  sought  the  retirement  of  an  adjoining 
apartment. 

All  these  unaccountable  movements  filled  Lady  Chatter- 
ton  with  amazement,  that  would  have  been  too  painful 
for  further  endurance  ;  and  Mrs.  Wilson,  knowing  that 
further  concealment  with  so  near  a  connection  would  be 
impossible,  if  not  unnecessary,  entered  into  a  brief  explan- 
ation of  the  earl's  masquerade  (although  ignorant  herself 
of  its  cause,  or  of  the  means  of  supporting  it),  and  his 
present  relation  with  her  niece. 

"I  declare  it  is  provoking,"  cried  Lady  Chatterton,  with 
a  tear  in  her  eye,  "  to  have  such  ingenious  plans  as  Der- 
went  and  I  had  made  lost  from  the  want  of  necessity  in 


278  PRECA  UTION: 

putting  them  in  force.  Your  demure  niece  has  deceived 
us  all  handsomely  ;  and  my  rigid  cousin,  too — I  will  rate 
him  soundly  for  his  deception." 

"  I  believe  he  already  repents  sincerely  of  his  having 
practised  it,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  "and  is  sufficiently  pun- 
ished for  his  error  by  its  consequence.  A  life  of  misery 
for  four  months  is  a  serious  penalty  to  a  lover." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other ;  "  I  am  afraid  his  punishment  was 
not  confined  to  himself  alone  ;  he  has  made  others  suffer 
from  his  misconduct.  I  will  rate  him  famously,  depend 
upon  it  I  will." 

If  anything,  the  interest  felt  by  Lady  Chatterton  for  her 
friend  was  increased  by  the  discovery  of  the  affections 
of  Pendennyss,  and  a  few  hours  were  passed  by  the 
three,  in  we  will  not  say  sober  delight,  for  transport  would 
be  a  better  word.  Lady  Chatterton  frankly  declared  that 
she  would  rather  see  Emily  the  wife  of  the  earl  than  of  her 
brother,  for  he  alone  was  good  enough  for  her  ;  and  Mrs. 
Wilson  felt  an  exhilaration  of  spirits,  in  the  completion  of 
her  most  sanguine  wishes,  that  neither  her  years,  her  phil- 
osophy, nor  even  her  religion,  could  entirely  restrain. 
The  face  of  Emily  was  a  continued  blush,  her  eye  sparkled 
with  the  lustre  of  renewed  hope,  and  her  bosom  was  heav- 
ing with  the  purest  emotions  of  happiness. 

At  the  appointed  hour  the  rattling  of  wheels  announced 
the  approach  of  the  earl  and  his  sister. 

Pendennyss  came  into  the  room  with  a  young  woman  of 
great  personal  beauty  and  extremely  feminine  manners, 
leaning  on  his  arm.  He  first  announced  her  to  Mrs.  Wil- 
son as  his  sister,  Lady  Marian  Denbigh,  who  received  her 
with  a  frank  cordiality  that  made  them  instantly  ac- 
quainted. Emily,  although  confiding  in  the  fullest  manner 
in  the  truth  and  worth  of  her  lover,  had  felt  an  inexplica- 
ble sensation  of  pleasure,  as  she  heard  the  earl  speak  of 
his  sister  by  the  name  of  Marian  ;  love  is  such  an  unquiet, 
and  generally  such  an  engrossing  passion,  that  few  avoid 
unnecessary  uneasiness  while  under  its  influence,  unless  so 
situated  as  to  enjoy  a  mutual  confidence. 

As  this  once  so  formidable  Marian  approached  to  salute 
her  with  an  extended  hand,  Emily  rose,  with  a  face  illu- 
mined with  pleasure,  to  receive  her.  Marian  viewed  her 
for  a  moment  intently,  and  folding  her  arms  around  her, 
whispered  softly,  as  she  pressed  her  to  her  heart, 

"  My  sister,  my  only  sister." 

Our    heroine    was   affected    to    tears,    and    Pendennyss 


PRECAUTION.  279 

gently  separating  the  two  he  loved  best  in  the  world,  they 
soon  became  calm. 

Lady  Marian  was  extremely  like  her  brother,  and  had  a 
family  resemblance  to  her  cousin  Harriet ;  but  her  man- 
ners were  softer  and  more  retiring,  and  she  had  a  slight 
tinge  of  a  settled  melancholy.  When  her  brother  spoke 
she  was  generally  silent,  not  in  fear,  but  in  love.  She  evi- 
dently regarded  him  among  the  first  of  human  beings,  and 
all  her  love  was  amply  returned. 

Both  the  aunt  and  niece  studied  the  manners  of  the 
earl  closely,  and  found  several  shades  of  distinction  be- 
tween what  he  was  and  what  he  had  been.  He  was  now 
the  perfect  man  of  the  world,  without  having  lost  the 
frank  sincerity  which  caused  you  to  believe  all  he  said. 
Had  Pendennyss  once  told  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  his  natural 
air  and  manner,  "  I  am  innocent,"  she  would  have  believed 
him,  and  an  earlier  investigation  would  have  saved  them 
months  of  misery  ;  but  the  consciousness  of  his  deception 
had  oppressed  him  with  the  curse  of  the  wicked. 

Pendennyss  had  lost  that  air  of  embarrassment  and  alarm 
which  had  so  often  startled  the  aunt,  even  in  her  hours  of 
greatest  confidence,  and  which  had  their  original  in  the 
awkwardness  of  disguise.  But  he  retained  his  softness, 
his  respect,  his  modest  diffidence  of  his  opinions,  although 
somewhat  corrected  now  by  his  acknowledged  experience 
and  acquaintance  with  man. 

Mrs.  Wilson  thought  these  decided  trifling  alterations  in 
manner  were  improvements  ;  but  it  required  some  days 
and  a  few  tender  speeches  to  reconcile  Emily  to  any  change 
in  the  appearance  of  Denbigh. 

Lady  Marian  had  ordered  her  carriage  early,  as  she  had 
not  anticipated  the  pleasure  she  found,  and  was  engaged 
to  accompany  her  cousin.  Lady  Laura,  to  a  fashionable 
rout  that  evening.  Unwilling  to  be  torn  from  his  newly- 
found  friends,  the  earl  proposed  that  the  three  ladies  should 
accompany  his  sister  to  Annerdale  House,  and  then  accept 
himself  as  an  escort  to  their  own  residence.  To  this  Har- 
riet assented,  and  leaving  a  message  for  Chatterton,  they 
entered  the  coach  of  Marian,  and  Pendennyss,  mounting 
the  dicky,  drove  off. 

Annerdale  House  was  among  the  best  edifices  of  Lon- 
don. It  had  been  erected  in  the  preceding  century,  and 
Emily  for  a  moment  felt,  as  she  went  through  its  splendid 
apartments,  that  it  threw  a  chill  around  hef  domestic  af- 
fections :  but  the  figure  of  Pendennvss  by  her  side  recon- 


280  PRECA  UTION. 

ciled  her  to  a  magnificence  she  had  been  unused  to,' which 
looked  the  lord  indeed  ;  but  with  so  much  modesty  and 
softness,  and  so  much  attention  to  herself,  that  before  she 
left  the  house,  Emily  began  to  think  it  very  possible  to 
enjoy  happiness  even  in  the  lap  of  splendor. 

The  names  of  Colonel  Denbigh  and  Lady  Laura  were 
soon  announced,  and  this  formidable  gentleman  made  his 
appearance.  He  resembled  Pendennyss  more  than  even 
the  duke,  and  appeared  about  the  same  age. 

Mrs.  Wilson  soon  saw  that  she  had  no  grounds  for  pity- 
ing Lady  Laura.  The  colonel  was  a  polished,  elegant 
man,  of  evident  good  sense  and  knowledge  of  the  world, 
and  apparently  devoted  to  his  wife.  He  was  called  George 
frequently  by  all  his  relatives,  and  he,  not  unfrequently, 
used  the  same  terni  himself  in  speaking  to  the  earl. 
Something  was  said  of  a  much  admired  bust,  and  the 
doors  of  a  large  library  were  opened  to  view  it.  Emily 
was  running  over  the  backs  of  a  case  of  books,  until  her 
eye  rested  on  one ;  and  half  smiling  and  blushing  she 
turned  to  Pendennyss,  who  watched  every  movement,  as 
she  said,  playfully, 

"  Pity  me,  my  lord,  and  lend  me  this  volume." 

"What  is  it  you  read?"  he  asked,  as  he  bowed  his 
cheerful  assent. 

But  Emily  hid  the  book  in  her  handkerchief.  Penden- 
nyss noticing  an  unwillingness,  though  an  extremely 
playful  one,  to  let  him  into  the  secret,  examined  the  case, 
and  perceiving  her  motive,  smiled,  as  he.  took  down  an- 
other volume  and  said — 

"  I  am  not  an  Irish,  but  an  English  peer,  Emily.  You 
had  the  wrong  volume." 

Emily  laughed,  with  deeper  blushes,  when  she  found 
her  wishes  detected,  while  the  earl,  opening  the  volume 
he  held — the  first  of  Debrett's  Peerage — pointed  with  his 
finger  to  the  article  concerning  his  own  family,  and  said 
to  Mrs.  Wilson,  who  had  joined  them  at  the  instant — 

"  To-morrow,  dear  madam,  I  shall  beg  your  attention  to 
a  melancholy  tale,  and  which  may,  in  some  slight  degree, 
extenuate  the  offence  I  was  guilty  of  in  assuming,  or 
rather  in  maintaining,  an  accidental  disguise." 

As  he  ended,  he  went  to  the  others,  to  draw  off  their  at- 
tention, while  Emily  and  her  aunt  examined  the  para- 
graph. It  was  as  follows  : 

"George  Denbigh — Earl  of  Pendennyss — and  Baron 
Lumley,  of  Lumley  Castle — Baron  Pendennyss — Beau- 


PR  EC  A  UTION.  281 

maris,  and  Fitzwalter,  born ,  of  ,  in  the  year  of 

;  a  bachelor."  The  list  of  earls  and  nobles  occupied 

several  pages,  but  the  closing  article  was  as  follows  : 

"George,  the  2ist  earl,  succeeded  his  mother  Marian, 
late  Countess  of  Pendennyss,  in  her  own  right,  being  born 
of  her  marriage  with  George  Denbigh,  Esq.,  a  cousin- 
german  to  Frederick,  the  gth  Duke  of  Derwent." 

"  Heir  apparent.  The  titles  being  to  heirs  general,  will 
descend  to  his  lordship's  sister,  Lady  Marian  Denbigh, 
should  the  present  earl  die  without  lawful  issue." 

As  much  of  the  explanation  of  the  mystery  of  our  tale 
is  involved  in  the  foregoing  paragraphs,  we  may  be  al- 
lowed to  relate  in  our  own  language,  what  Pendennyss 
made  his  friends  acquainted  with  at  different  times,  and  in 
a  manner  suitable  to  the  subject  and  his  situation. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

IT  was  at  the  close  of  that  war  which  lost  this  country 
the  wealthiest  and  most  populous  of  her  American  colo- 
nies, that  a  fleet  of  ships  were  returning  from  their  service 
among  the  islands  of  the  New  World,  to  seek  for  their 
worn  out  and  battered  hulks,  and  equally  weakened  crews, 
the  repairs  and  comforts  of  England  and  home. 

The  latter  word,  to  the  mariner  the  most  endearing  of 
all  sounds,  had,  as  it  were,  drawn  together  by  instinct  a 
group  of  sailors  on  the  forecastle  of  the  proudest  ship  of 
the  squadron,  who  gazed  with  varied  emotions  on  the  land 
which  gave  them  birth,  but  with  one  common  feeling  of 
joy  that  the  day  of  attaining  it  was  at  length  arrived. 

The  water  curled  from  the  bows  of  this  castle  of  the 
ocean,  in  increasing  waves  and  growing  murmurs,  that  at 
times  drew  the  attention  of  the  veteran  tar  to  their  quick- 
ening progress,  and  having  cheered  his  heart  with  the  sight, 
he  cast  his  experienced  eye  in  silence  on  the  swelling  sails, 
to  see  if  nothing  more  could  be  done  to  shorten  the  dis- 
tance between  him  and  his  country. 

Hundreds  of  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  land  of  their  birth, 
and  hundreds  of  hearts  were  beating  in  that  one  vessel  with 
the  awakening  delights  of  domestic  love  and  renewed  af- 
fections ;  but  no  tongue  broke  the  disciplined  silence  of 
the  ship  into  sounds  that  overcame  the  propitious  ripple 
of  the  water. 


282  PRECAUTION: 

On  the  highest  summit  of  their  towering  mast  floated  a 
small  blue  flag,  the  symbol  of  authority,  and  beneath  it 
paced  a  man  to  and  fro  the  deck,  which  was  abandoned  by 
his  inferiors  to  his  more  elevated  rank.  His  square-built 
form  and  care-worn  features,  which  had  lost  the  brilliancy 
of  an  English  complexion,  and  hair  whitened  prematurely, 
spoke  of  bodily  vigor  and  arduous  services  which  had  put 
that  vigor  to  the  severest  trials. 

At  each  turn  of  his  walk,  as  he  faced  the  land  of  his  na- 
tivity, a  lurking  smile  stole  over  his  sunburnt  features,  and 
then  a  glance  of  his  eye  would  scan  the  progress  of  the 
far-stretched  squadron  which  obeyed  his  orders,  and  which 
he  was  now  returning  to  his  superiors,  undiminished  in 
numbers,  and  proud  with  victory. 

By  himself  stood  an  officer  in  a  uniform  differing  from 
all  around  him.  His  figure  was  small,  his  eye  restless, 
quick,  and  piercing,  and  bent  on  those  shores  to  which  he 
was  unwillingly  advancing,  with  a  look  of  anxiety  and 
mortification,  that  showed  him  the  late  commander  of  those 
vessels  around  them,  which,  by  displaying  their  double 
flags,  manifested  to  the  eye  of  the  seaman  a  recent  change 
of  masters. 

Occasionally  the  conqueror  would  stop,  and  by  some 
effort  of  well  meant,  but  rather  uncouth  civility,  endeavor 
to  soften  the  hours  of  captivity  ;  efforts  which  were  re- 
ceived with  the  courtesy  of  the  most  punctilious  etiquette, 
but  a  restraint  which  showed  that  they  were  unwelcome. 

It  was,  perhaps,  the  most  unlucky  moment  that  had  oc- 
curred within  the  two  months  of  their  association,  for  an 
exchange  of  their  better  feelings.  The  honest  heart  of  the 
English  tar  dilated  with  ill-concealed  delight  at  his  ap- 
proach to  the  termination  of  labors  performed  with  credit 
and  honor,  and  his  smiles  and  good-humor,  which  partly 
proceeded  from  the  feelings  of  a  father  and  a  friend,  were 
daggers  to  the  heart  of  his  discomfited  rival. 

A  third  personage  now  appeared  from  the  cabin  of  the 
vessel,  and  approached  the  spot  where  the  adverse  admirals 
at  the  moment  were  engaged  in  one  of  these  constrained 
conferences. 

The  appearance  and  dress  of  this  gentleman  differed 
widely  from  the  two  just  described.  He  was  tall,  grace- 
ful, and  dignified  ;  he  was  a  soldier,  and  clearly  of  high 
rank.  His  carefully  dressed  hair  concealed  the  ravages  of 
time  ;  and  on  the  quarter-deck  of  a  first-rate  his  attire  and 
manners  were  suited  to  a  field-day  in  the  park. 


PRECA  UTION.  283 

"  I  really  insist,  monsieur,"  cried  the  admiral,  good- 
naturedly,  "  that  you  shall  take  part  of  my  chaise  to  Lon- 
don. You  are  a  stranger,  and  it  will  help  to  keep  up  your 
spirits  by  the  way." 

"  You  are  very  good,  Monsieur  Howell,"  replied  the 
Frenchman,  with  a  polite  bow  and  forced  smile,  miscon- 
struing ill-judged  benevolence  into  a  wish  for  his  person 
to  grace  a  triumph — "  but  I  have  accepted  the  offer  Mon- 
sieur le  General  Denbigh  was  so  good  as  to  make  me." 

"  The  comte  is  engaged  to  me,  Howell,"  said  the  gen- 
eral, with  a  courtly  smile,  "  and,  indeed,  you  must  leave 
the  ship  to-night,  or  as  soon  as  we  anchor.  But  I  shall 
take  daylight  and  to-morrow." 

"  Well — well — Denbigh,"  exclaimed  the  other,  rubbing 
his  hands  with  pleasure  as  he  viewed  the  increasing  power 
of  the  wind,  "  only  make  yourselves  happy,  and  I  am  con- 
tented." 

A  few  hours  intervened  before  they  reached  the  Bay  of 
Plymouth,  and  round  the  table,  after  their  dinner,  were 
seated  the  general  and  English  admiral.  The  comte,  under 
the  pretence  of  preparing  his  things  for  a  removal,  had  re- 
tired to  his  apartment  to  conceal  his  feelings  ;  and  the 
captain  of  the  ship  was  above,  superintending  the  approach 
of  the  vessel  to  her  anchorage.  Two  or  three  well-emptied 
bottles  of  wine  yet  remained  ;  but  as  the  healths  of  all  the 
branches  of  the  House  of  Brunswick  had  been  propitiated 
from  their  contents,  with  a  polite  remembrance  of  Louis 
XVI.  and  Marie  Antoinette  from  General  Denbigh,  neither 
of  the  superiors  was  much  inclined  for  action. 

"  Is  the  Thunderer  in  her  station  ? "  said  the  admiral 
to  the  signal  lieutenant,  who  at  that  moment  came  below 
with  a  report. 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  has  answered." 

"  Very  well — make  the  signal  to  prepare  to  anchor." 

"Ay,  ay,  sir." 

"  And  here,  Bennet,"  to  the  retiring  lieutenant,  "call  the 
transports  all  in  shore  of  us." 

"  Three  hundred  and  eighty-four,  sir,"  said  the  officer, 
looking  at  his  signal-book. 

The  admiral  cast  his  eye  at  the  book,  and  nodded  an 
assent. 

"And  let  the  Mermaid — Flora — Weasel — Bruiser,  and 
all  the  sloops  lie  well  off,  until  we  have  landed  the  sol- 
diers ;  the  pilot  says  the  channel  is  full  of  luggers,  and 
Jonathan  has  grown  very  saucy." 


284  PRECA  UTION. 

The  lieutenant  made  a  complying  bow,  and  was  retiring 
to  execute  these  orders,  as  Admiral  Howell,  taking  up  a 
bottle  not  yet  entirely  deserted  by  its  former  tenant,  cried 
stoutly — "  Here,  Bennet — I  forgot — take  a  glass  of  wine  ; 
drink  success  to  ourselves,  and  defeat  to  the  French  all 
over  the  world." 

The  general  pointed  significantly  to  the  adjoining  cabin 
of  the  French  admiral,  as  he  pressed  his  hand  on  his  lips 
for  silence. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Admiral  Howell,  recollecting  himself,  con- 
tinuing in  a  whisper,  "  you  can  drink  it  in  your  heart,  not- 
withstanding." 

The  signal  officer  nodded,  and  drank  the  liquor.  As  he 
smacked  his  lips  while  going  on  deck,  he  thought  to  him- 
self, these  nabobs  drink  famous  good  wine. 

Although  the  feelings  of  General  Denbigh  were  undef 
much  more  command  and  disciplined  obedience  than  those 
of  his  friends,  yet  was  he  too  unusually  elated  with  his 
return  to  home  and  expected  honors.  If  the  admiral  had 
captured  a  fleet,  he  had  taken  an  island  ;  and  hand  in  hand 
they  had  co-operated  in  unusual  harmony  through  the 
difficulties  of  an  arduous  campaign.  This  rather  singular 
circumstance  was  owing  to  their  personal  friendship.  From 
their  youth  they  had  been  companions,  and  although  of 
very  different  characters  and  habits,  chance  had  cemented 
their  intimacy  in  more  advanced  life.  While  in  subordi- 
nate stations,  they  had  been  associated  together  in  ser- 
vice ;  and  the  general  and  admiral,  in  command  of  an 
army  and  fleet,  had  once  before  returned  to  England  with 
less  renown,  as  a  colonel  and  a  captain  of  a  frigate.  The 
great  family  influence  of  the  soldier,  with  the  known  cir- 
cumstance of  their  harmony,  had  procured  them  this  later 
command,  and  home,  with  its  comforts  and  rewards,  was 
close  before  them.  Pouring  out  a  glass  of  Madeira,  the 
general,  who  always  calculated  what  he  said,  exclaimed — 

"  Peter — we  have  been  friends  from  boys." 

"  To  be  sure  we  have,"  said  the  admiral,  looking  up  in  a 
little  surprise  at  this  unexpected  commencement — "and  it 
will  not  be  my  fault  if  we  do  not  die  such,  Frederick." 

Dying  was  a  subject  the  general  did  not  much  delight 
in,  although  of  conspicuous  courage  in  the  field  ;  and  he 
proceeded  to  his  more  important  purpose — 

"  I  could  never  find,  although  I  have  looked  over  our 
family  tree  so  often,  that  we  are  in  any  manner  related; 
Howell." 


PRECA  UTION.  285 

"  I  believe  it  is  too  late  to  mend  that  matter  now,"  said 
the  admiral,  musing. 

"  Why  no — hem — I  think  not,  Howell  ;  take  a  glass  of 
this  Burgundy." 

The  admiral  shook  his  head  with  a  stubborn  resolution 
to  taste  nothing -French,  but  he  helped  himself  to  a  boun- 
tiful stock  of  Madeira,  as  he  replied — 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how  you  can  bring  it  about  this 
time  of  day,  Denbigh  ?" 

"  How  much  money  will  you  be  able  to  give  that  girl  of 
yours,  Peter  ? "  said  his  friend,  evading  the  point. 

"  Forty  thousand  down,  my  good  fellow,  and  as  much 
more  when  I  die,"  cried  the  open-hearted  sailor,  with  a  nod 
of  exultation. 

"  George,  my  youngest  son,  will  not  be  rich — but  Francis 
will  be  a  duke,  and  have  a  noble  estate  ;  yet,"  said  the 
general,  meditating,  "he  is  so  unhappy  in  his  disposition 
and  uncouth  in  his  manners,  I  cannot  think  of  offering  him 
to  your  daughter  as  a  husband." 

"  Isabel  shall  marry  a  good-natured  man,  like  myself,  or 
not  at' all,"  said  the  admiral,  positively,  but  not  in  the  least 
suspecting  the  drift  of  his  friend,  who  was  influenced  by 
anything  but  a  regard  for  the  lady's  happiness. 

Francis,  his  first  born,  was,  in  truth,  as  he  had  described  ; 
but  his  governing  wish  was  to  provide  for  his  favorite 
George.  Dukes  could  never  want  wives,  but  unportioned 
captains  in  the  guards  might. 

"  George  is  one  of  the  best  tempers  in  the  world," 
said  his  father,  with  strong  feeling,  "  and  the  delight  of 
us  all.  I  could  wish  he  had  been  the  heir  to  the  family 
honors." 

"  That  it  is  certainly  too  late  to  help,"  cried  the  admiral, 
wondering  if  the  ingenuity  of  his  friend  could  devise  9 
a  remedy  for  this  evil  too. 

"  Too  late,  indeed,"  said  the  other,  with  a  heavy  sigh, 
"but  Howell,  what  say  you  to  matching  Isabel  with  my 
favorite  George?" 

"  Denbigh,"  cried  the  sailor,  eying  him  keenly,  "  Isabel 
is  my  only  child,  and  a  dutiful,  good  girl  ;  one  that  will 
obey  orders  if  she  breaks  owners,  as  we  sailors  say.  Now 
I  did  think  of  marrying  her  to  a  seaman,  when  a  proper 
man  came  athwart  my  course  ;  yet  your  son  is  a  soldier, 
and  that  is  next  to  being  in  the  navy  ;  if  so  be  you  had 
made  him  come  aboard  me,  when  I  wanted  you  to,  there 
would  have  been  no  objection  at  all  ;  however,  when  oc-« 


286  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

casion  offers,  I  will  overhaul  the  lad,  and  if  I  find  him 
stanch  he  may  turn  in  with  Bell,  and  welcome." 

This  was  uttered  in  perfect  simplicity,  and  with  no  in- 
tention of  giving  offence,  partaking  partly  of  the  nature 
of  a  soliloquy  ;  so  the  general,  greatly  encouraged,  was 
about  to  push  the  point,  when  a  gun  was  fired  from  their 
own  ship. 

"  There's  some  of  them  lubberly  transports  won't  mind 
our  signals  ;  they  have  had  these  soldiers  so  long  on  board, 
they  get  as  clumsy  as  the  red-coats  themselves,"  muttered 
the  admiral,  hastening  on  deck  to  enforce  his  commands. 

A  shot  or  two,  sent  significantly  in  the  direction  of  the 
wanderers,  but  so  as  not  to  hit  them,  restored  order  ;  and 
within  an  hour  forty  line-of-battle  ships  and  a  hundred 
transports  were  disposed  in  the  best  manner  for  conven- 
ience and  safety. 

On  their  presentation  to  their  sovereign,  both  veterans 
were  embellished  with  the  ribbon  of  the  Bath  ;  and  as  their 
exploits  filled  the  mouths  of  the  newsmongers,  and  the 
columns  of  the  public  prints  of  the  day,  the  new  knights 
began  to  think  more  seriously  of  building  a  monument  to 
their  victories,  in  a  union  between  their  children.  The 
admiral,  however,  determined  to  do  nothing  with  his  eyes 
shut,  and  he  demanded  a  scrutiny. 

"  Where  is  the  boy  who  is  to  be  a  duke  ? "  exclaimed  he, 
one  day,  when  his  friend  had  introduced  the  point  with  a 
view  to  a  final  arrangement.  "  Bell  has  good  blood  in  her 
veins — is  a  tight-built  little  vessel — clean  heel'd  and  trim, 
and  would  make  as  good  a  duchess  as  the  best  of  them  ; 
so,  Denbigh,  I  will  begin  by  taking  a  survey  of  the 
senior." 

To  this  the  general  had  no  objection,  as  he  well  knew 
that  Francis  would  be  wide  of  pleasing  the  tastes  of  an 
open-hearted,  simple  man,  like  the  sailor.  They  met  ac- 
cordingly for  what  the  general  facetiously  called  the  re- 
view, and  what  the  admiral  innocently  termed  his  survey, 
at  the  house  of  the  former,  when  the  young  gentlemen 
were  submitted  to  his  inspection. 

Francis  Denbigh  was  about  four  and  twenty,  of  a  feeble 
body,  and  with  a  face  marked  with  the  small-pox,  to  ap- 
proaching deformity  ;  his  eye  was  brilliant  and  piercing, 
but  unsettled,  and  at  times  wild — his  manner  awkward, 
constrained,  and  timid.  There  would  be  seen,  it  is  true, 
an  intelligence  and  animation,  which  occasionally  lighted 
his  countenance  into  gleams  of  sunshine,  that  caused  you 


PRECA  UTION.  287 

to  overlook  the  lesser  accompaniments  of  complexion  and 
features  in  the  expression  ;  but  they  were  transient,  and 
inevitably  vanished  whenever  his  father  spoke  or  in  any 
manner  mingled  in  his  pursuits. 

An  observer  close  as  Mrs.  Wilson,  would  have  said  that 
the  feelings  of  the  father  and  son  were  not  such  as  ought 
to  exist  between  parent  and  child. 

But  the  admiral,  who  regarded  model  and  rigging  a 
good  deal,  satisfied  himself  with  muttering,  as  he  turned 
his  eyes  on  the  junior — 

"  He  may  do  for  a  duke — but  I  would  not  have  him  for 
a  cockswain." 

George  was  a  year  younger  than  Francis  ;  in  form,  stat- 
ure, and  personal  grace,  the  counterpart  of  his  father  ;  his 
eye  was  less  keen  but  more  attractive  than  that  of  his 
brother  ;  his  air  open,  polished,  and  manly. 

"Ah!"  thought  the  sailor,  as  he  ended  a  satisfactory 
survey  of  the  youth,  "what  a  thousand  pities  Denbigh  did 
not  send  him  to  sea !  " 

The  thing  was  soon  settled,  and  George  was  to  be  the  happy 
man.  Sir  Peter  concluded  to  dine  with  his  friend,  in  order 
to  settle  preliminaries  over  the  bottle  by  themselves  ;  the 
young  men  and  their  mother  being  engaged  to  their  uncle 
the  duke. 

"Well,  Denbigh,"  cried  the  admiral,  as  the  last  servant 
withdrew,  "  when  do  you  mean  to  have  the  young  couple 
spliced  ?" 

"  Why,"  replied  the  wary  soldier,  who  knew  he  could 
not  calculate  on  obedierrce  to  his  mandate  with  as  great  a 
certainty  as  his  friend — "  the  better  way  is  to  bring  the 
young  people  together,  in  order  that  they  may  become  ac- 
quainted, you  know." 

"Acquainted — together" — cried  his  companion,  in  a 
little  surprise,  "what  better  way  is  there  to  bring  them  to- 
gether, than  to  have  them  up  before  a  priest,  or  to  make 
them  acquainted  by  letting  them  swing  in  the  same  ham- 
mock ? " 

•"It  might  answer  the  end,  indeed,"  said  the  general, 
with  a  smile,  "  but  somehow  or  other,  it  is  always  the 
best  method  to  bring  young  folks  together,  to  let  them 
have  their  own  way  in  the  affair  for  a  time." 

"Own  way!"  rejoined  Sir  Peter,  bluntly,  "did  you 
ever  find  it  answer  to  let  a  woman  have  her  own  way,  Sir 
Frederick  ? " 

"  Not  common  women  certainly,  my  good  friend,"  said 


288  PR  EC  A  UTION". 

the  general,  "  but  such  a  girl  as  my  intended  daughter  is 
an  exception." 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  cried  the  sailor  ;  "  Bell  is  a  good 
girl,  but  she  has  her  quirks  and  whims  like  all  the  sex." 

"You  have  had  no  trouble  with  her  as  yet,  I  believe, 
Howell,"  said  Sir  Frederick,  cavalierly,  throwing  an  in1 
quiring  glance  on  his  friend  at  the  same  time. 

"  No,  not  yet — nor  do  I  think  she  will  ever  dare  to  mu- 
tiny ;  but  there  has  been  one  wishing  to  take  her  in  tow 
already  since  we  got  in." 

"How!"  said  the  other  in  alarm,  "who — what  is  he  ? 
Some  officer  in  the  navy,  I  suppose." 

"  No,  he  was  a  kind  of  chaplain,  one  Parson  Ives,  a  good 
sort  of  a  youth  enough,  and  a  prodigious  favorite  with  my 
sister,  Lady  Hawker." 

"Well,  what  did  you  answer,  Peter?"  said  his  com- 
panion, in  increasing  uneasiness  ;  "  did  you  put  him  off  ?  " 

"  Off  !  to  be  sure  I  did — do  you  think  I  wanted  a  bar- 
ber's clerk  for  a  son-in-law  ?  No,  no,  Denbigh  ;  a  soldier 
is  bad  enough,  without  having  a  preacher." 

The  general  compressed  his  lips  at  this  direct  attack  on 
a  profession  that  he  thought  the  most  honorable  of  any  in 
the  world,  in  some  resentment ;  but  remembering  the 
eighty  thousand  pounds,  and  accustomed  to  the  ways  of 
the  other,  he  curbed  his  temper,  and  inquired — 

"  But  Miss  Howell — your  daughter — how  did  she  stand 
affected  to  this  priest  ? " 

"  How — why — how  ? — why,  I  never  asked  her." 

"  Never  asked  her  ? " 

"  No,  never  asked  her  :  she  is  my  daughter,  you  know, 
and  bound  to  obey  my  orders,  and  I  did  not  choose  she 
should  marry  a  parson.  But,  once  for  all,  when  is  the  wed- 
ding to  take  place  ? " 

General  Denbigh  had  indulged  his  younger  son  too 
blindly  and  too  fondly  to  expect  that  implicit  obedience 
the  admiral  calculated  to  a  certainty  on,  and  with  every 
prospect  of  not  being  disappointed,  from  his  daughter. 
Isabel  Howell  was  pretty,  mild,  and  timid,  and  unused  to 
oppose  any  of  her  father's  commands ;  but  George  Den- 
bigh was  haughty,  positive,  and  self-willed,  and  unless  the 
affair  could  be  so  managed  as  to  make  him  a  willing  assist- 
ant in  the  courtship,  his  father  knew  it  might  be  aban- 
doned at  once.  He  thought  his  son  might  be  led,  but  not 
driven  ;  and,  relying  on  his  own  powers  for  managing,  the 
general  saw  his  only  safety  in  executing  the  scheme  was 


PRECA  UTION.  289 

in  postponing  his  advances  for  a  regular  siege  to  the  lady's 
heart. 

Sir  Peter  chafed  and  swore  at  this  circumlocution.  The 
thing  could  be  done  as  well  in  a  week  as  in  a  year  ;  and 
the  veterans,  who,  for  a  miracle,  had  agreed  in  their  rival 
stations,  and  in  doubtful  moments  of  success,  were  near 
splitting  on  the  point  of  marrying  a  girl  of  nineteen. 

As  Sir  Peter  both  loved  his  friend,  and  had  taken  a  pro- 
digious fancy  to  the  youth,  he,  however,  was  fain  to  sub- 
mit to  a  short  probation. 

"You  are  always  for  going  a  roundabout  way  to  do 
a  thing,"  said  the  admiral,  as  he  yielded  the  point.  "  Now 
when  you  took  that  battery,  had  you  gone  up  in  front  as  I 
advised  you,  you  would  have  taken  it  in  ten  minutes  in- 
stead of  five  hours." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  with  a  friendly  shake  of  the  hand 
at  parting,  "  and  lost  fifty  men  in  place'of  one  by  the  step." 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

THE  Honorable  General  Denbigh  was  the  youngest  of 
three  sons.  His  seniors,  Francis  and  George,  were  yet 
bachelors.  The  death  of  a  cousin  had  made  Francis  a 
duke  while  yet  a  child,  and  both  he  and  his  favorite  broth- 
er, George,  had  decided  on  lives  of  inactivity  and  slug- 
gishness. 

"When  I  die,  brother,"  the  oldest  would  say,  "you  will 
succeed  me,  and  Frederick  can  provide  heirs  for  the  name 
hereafter." 

This  arrangement  had  been  closely  adhered  to,  and  the 
two  elder  brothers  reached  the  ages  of  fifty-five  and  fifty- 
six  without  altering  their  condition.  In  the  meantime 
Frederick  married  a  young  woman  of  rank  and  fortune  ; 
the  fruits  of  their  union  being  the  two  young  candidates 
for  the  hand  of  Isabel  Howell. 

Francis  Denbigh,  the  eldest  son  of  the  general,  was  nat- 
urally diffident,  and  in  addition  it  was  his  misfortune  to  be 
the  reverse  of  captivating  in  external  appearance.  The 
small-pox  sealed  his  doom  ;  ignorance,  and  the  violence  of 
the  attack,  left  him  indelibly  impressed  with  the  ravages 
of  that  dreadful  disorder.  On  the  other  hand  his  brother 
escaped  without  any  vestiges  of  the  complaint  ;  and  his 
spotless  skin  and  fine  open  countenance  met  the  gaze  of 

19 


290  P  RECAST  I  OX. 

his  mother,  after  the  recovery  of  the  two,  in  striking  con- 
trast to  the  deformed  lineaments  of  his  elder . brother. 
Such  an  occurrence  is  sure  to  excite  one  of  two  feelings 
in  the  breast  of  every  beholder — pity  or  disgust ;  and,  un- 
happily for  Francis,  maternal  tenderness  in  his  case  was 
unable  to  counteract  the  latter  sensation.  George  became 
a  favorite  and  Francis  a  neutral.  The  effect  was  easy  to 
be  seen,  and  it  was  rapid  as  it  was  indelible. 

The  feelings  of  Francis  were  sensitive  to  an  extreme. 
He  had  more  quickness,  more  sensibility,  more  real  talent 
than  George  ;  which  enabled  him  to  perceive,  and  caused 
him  to  feel  more  acutely,  the  partiality  of  his  mother. 

As  yet,  the  engagements  and  duties  of  the  general  had 
kept  his  children  and  their  improvements  out  of  his  sight ; 
but  at  the  ages  of  eleven  and  twelve,  the  feelings  of  a  father 
began  to  take  pride  in  the  possession  of  his  sons. 

On  his  return  from  a  foreign  station,  after  an  absence  of 
two  years,  his  children  were  ordered  from  school  to  meet 
him.  Francis  had  improved  in  stature,  but  not  in  beauty; 
George  had  flourished  in  both. 

The  natural  diffidence  of  the  former  was  increased,  by 
perceiving  that  he  was  no  favorite,  and  the  effect  began  to 
show  itself  on  manners  at  no  time  engaging.  He  met  his 
father  with  doubt,  and  he  saw  with  anguish,  that  the  em- 
brace received  by  his  brother  much  exceeded  in  warmth 
that  which  had  been  bestowed  on  himself. 

"  Lady  Margaret,"  said  the  general  to  his  wife,  as  he  fol- 
lowed the  boys  as  they  retired  from  the  dinner  table,  with 
his  eyes,  "  it  is  a  thousand  pities  George  had  not  been  the 
elder.  He  would  have  graced  a  dukedom  or  a  throne. 
Frank  is  only  fit  for  a  parson." 

This  ill-judged  speech  was  uttered  sufficiently  loud  to  be 
overheard  by  both  the  sons  :  on  the  younger,  it  made  a 
pleasurable  sensation  for  the  moment.  His  father — his 
dear  father,  had  thought  him  fit  to  be  a  king  ;  and  his 
father  must  be  a  judge,  whispered  his  native  vanity  ;  but 
all  this  time  the  connection  between  the  speech  and  his 
brother's  rights  did  not  present  themselves  to  his  mind. 
George  loved  his  brother  too  well,  too  sincerely,  Jo  have 
injured  him  even  in  thought ;  and  so  far  as  Francis  was 
concerned,  his  vanity  was  as  blameless  as  it  was  natural. 

The  effect  produced  on  the  mind  of  Francis  was  different 
both  in  substance  and  in  degree.  It  mortified  his  pride, 
alarmed  his  delicacy,  and  wounded  his  already  morbid  sen- 
sibility to  such  an  extent,  as  to  make  him  entertain  the 


PRECA  UTION.  291 

romantic  notion  of  withdrawing  from  the  world,  and  of 
yielding  a  birthright  to  one  so  every  way  more  deserving 
of  it  than  himself. 

From  this  period  might  be  dated  an  opinion  of  Francis's, 
which  never  afterward  left  him  ;  he  fancied  he  was  doing 
injustice  to  another,  and  that  other,  a  brother  whom  he 
ardently  loved,  by  continuing  to  exist.  Had  he  met  with 
fondness  in  his  parents,  or  sociability  in  his  playfellows, 
these  fancies  would  have  left  him  as  he  grew  into  life.  But 
the  affections  of  his  parents  were  settled  on  his  more  prom- 
ising brother  ;  and  his  manners  daily  increasing  in  their 
repulsive  traits,  drove  his  companions  to  the  society  of 
others,  more  agreeable  to  their  own  buoyancy  and  joy. 

Had  Francis  Denbigh,  at  this  age,  met  with  a  guardian 
clear-sighted  enough  to  fathom  his  real  character,  and 
competent  to  direct  his  onward  course,  he  would  yet  have 
become  an  ornament  to  his  name  and  country,  and  a  use- 
ful member  of  society.  But  no  such  guide  existed.  His 
natural  guardians,  in  his  particular  case,  were  his  worst 
enemies  ;  and  the  boys  left  school  for  college  four  years 
afterward,  each  advanced  in  his  respective  properties  of 
attraction  and  repulsion. 

Irreligion  is  hardly  a  worse  evil  in  a  family  than  favor- 
itism. When  once  allowed  to  exist,  in  the  breast  of  the 
parent,  though  hid  apparently  from  all  other  eyes,  its  sad 
consequences  begin  to  show  themselves.  Effects  are  pro- 
duced, and  we  look  in  vain  for  the  cause.  The  awakened 
sympathies  of  reciprocal  caresses  and  fondness  are  mis- 
taken for  uncommon  feelings,  and  the  forbidding  aspect  of 
deadened  affections  is  miscalled  native  sensibility. 

In  this  manner  the  evil  increases  itself,  until  manners 
are  formed,  and  characters  created,  that  must  descend  with 
their  possessor  to  the  tomb. 

In  the  peculiar  formation  of  the  mind  of  Francis  Den- 
bigh, the  evil  was  doubly  injurious.  His  feelings  required 
sympathy  and  softness,  and  they  met  only  with  coldness 
and  disgust.  George  alone  was  an  exception  to  the  rule. 
He  did  love  his  brother  ;  but  even  his  gayety  and  spirits 
finally  tired  of  the  dull  uniformity  of  the  diseased  habits  of 
his  senior. 

The  only  refuge  Francis  found  in  his  solitude,  amid  the 
hundreds  of  the  university,  was  in  his  muse  and  in  the 
powers  of  melody.  The  voice  of  his  family  has  been  fre- 
quently mentioned  in  these  pages  ;  and  if,  as  Lady  Laura 
has  intimated,  there  had  ever  been  a  siren  in  the  r^ce.  it 


292  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

was  a  male  one.  He  wrote  prettily,  and  would  sing  these 
efforts  of  his  muse  to  music  of  his  own,  drawing  crowds 
around  his  windows,  in  the  stillness  of  the  night,  to  listen 
to  sounds  as  melodious  as  they  were  mournful.  His  poet- 
ical efforts  partook  of  the  distinctive  character  of  the  man, 
being  melancholy,  wild,  and  sometimes  pious. 

George  was  always  among  the  most  admiring  of  his 
brother's  auditors,  and  would  feel  a  yearning  of  his  heart 
toward  him,  at  such  moments,  that  was  painful.  But 
George  was  too  young  and  too  heedless  to  supply  the  place 
of  a  monitor,  or  to  draw  his  thoughts  into  a  more  salutary 
train.  This  was  the  duty  of  his  parents,  and  should  have 
been  their  task.  But  the  world,  his  rising  honors,  and  his 
professional  engagements,  occupied  the  time  of  the  father  ; 
and  fashion,  parties,  and  pleasure  killed  the  time  of  his 
mother.  When  they  did  think  of  their  children,  it  was  of 
George  ;  the  painful  image  of  Francis  being  seldom  ad- 
mitted to  disturb  their  serenity. 

George  Denbigh  was  open-hearted,  without  suspicion, 
and  a  favorite.  The  first  quality  taxed  his  generosity,  the 
second  subjected  him  to  fraud,  and  the  third  supplied  him 
with  the  means.  But  these  means  sometimes  failed.  The 
fortune  of  the  general,  though  handsome,  was  not  more 
than  competent  to  support  his  style  of  living.  He  expect- 
ed to  be  a  duke  himself  one  day,  and  was  anxious  to  main- 
tain an  appearance  now  that  would  not  disgrace  his  future 
elevation.  A  system  of  strict  but  liberal  economy  had 
been  adopted  in  the  case  of  his  sons.  They  had,  for  the 
sake  of  appearances,  a  stated  and  equal  allowance. 

The  duke  had  offered  to  educate  the  heir  himself,  and 
under  his  own  eye.  But  to  this  Lady  Margaret  had  found 
some  ingenious  excuse,  and  one  that  seemed  to  herself  and 
the  world  honorable  to  her  natural  feeling  ;  but  had  the 
offer  been  made  to  George,  these  reasons  would  have 
vanished  in  the  desire  to  advance  his  interests,  or  to  gratify 
his  propensities.  Such  decisions  are  by  no  means  uncom- 
mon ;  parents  having  once  decided  on  the  merits  and 
abilities  of  their  children,  frequently  decline  the  interfer- 
ence of  third  persons,  since  the  improvement  of  their  de- 
nounced offspring  might  bring  their  own  judgment  into 
question,  if  it  did  not  convey  an  indirect  censure  on  their 
justice. 

The  heedlessness  of  George  brought  his  purse  to  a  state 
of  emptiness.  His  last  guinea  was  gone,  and  two  months 
were  wanting  to  the  end  of  the  quarter.,  George  had 


PRECA  UTION.  293 

played  and  been  cheated.  He  had  ventured  to  apply  to 
his  mother  for  small  sums,  when  his  dress  or  some  trifling 
indulgence  required  an  advance  :  and  always  with  success. 
But  here  were  sixty  guineas  gone  at  a  blow,  and  pride, 
candor,  forbade  his  concealing  the  manner  of  his  loss,  if  he 
made  the  application.  This  was  dreadful  ;  his  own  con- 
science reproached  him,  and  he  had  so  often  witnessed  the 
violence  of  his  mother's  resentments  against  Francis,  for 
faults  which  appeared  to  him  very  trivial,  not  to  stand  in 
the  utmost  dread  of  her  more  just  displeasure  in  the  pres- 
ent case. 

Entering  the  apartment  of  his  brother,  in  this  disturbed 
condition,  George  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  and  with  his 
face  concealed  between  his  hands,  sat  brooding  over  his 
forlorn  situation. 

"  George  ! "  said  his  brother,  soothingly,  "  you  are  in 
distress  ;  can  I  relieve  you  in  any  way  ? " 

"Oh  no — no — no — Frank;  it  is  entirely  out  of  your 
power." 

"  Perhaps  not,  my  dear  brother,"  continued  the  other, 
endeavoring  to  draw  his  hand  into  his  own. 

"  Entirely!  entirely!"  said  George.  Then  springing 
up  in  despair,  he  exclaimed,  "  But  I  must  live — I  cannot 
die." 

"  Live  !  die  !  "  cried  Francis,  recoiling  in  horror.  "What 
do  you  mean  by  such  language  ?  Tell  me,  George,  am  I 
not  your  brother  ?  Your  only  brother  and  best  friend  ? " 

Francis  felt  he  had  no  friend  if  George  was  not  that 
friend,  and  his  face  grew  pale  while  the  tears  flowed  rap- 
idly down  his  cheeks. 

George  could  not  resist  such  an  appeal.  He  caught  the 
hand  of  his  brother  and  made  him  acquainted  with  his 
losses  and  his  wants. 

Francis  mused  some  little  time  over  his  narration,  ere 
he  broke  silence. 

"  It  was  all  you  had  ?  " 

"The  last  shilling,"  cried  George,  beating  his  head  with 
his  hand. 

"  How  much  will  you  require  to  make  out  the  quarter  ?" 

"  Oh  I  must  have  at  least  fifty  guineas,  or  how  can  I  live 
at  all  ? " 

The  ideas  of  life  in  George  were  connected  a  good  deal 
with  the  manner  it  was  to  be  enjoyed.  His  brother  ap- 
peared struggling  with  himself,  and  then  turning  to  the 
other,  continued — 


294  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

"  But  surely,  under  present  circumstances,  you  could 
make  less  do." 

"  Less,  never — hardly  that  " — interrupted  George,  vehe- 
mently. "  If  Lady  Margaret  did  not  inclose  me  a  note 
now  and  then,  how  could  we  get  along  at  all  ?  don't  you 
find  it  so  yourself,  brother  ? " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Francis,  turning  pale — 

"  Don't  know,"  cried  George,  catching  a  view  of  his  al- 
tered countenance — "you  get  the  money,  though  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  remember  it,"  said  the  other,  sighing  heavily. 

"  Francis,"  cried  George,  comprehending  the  truth, 
"you  shall  share  every  shilling  I  receive  in  future — you 
shall — indeed  you  shall." 

"Well,  then,"  rejoined  Francis  with  a  smile,  "it  is  a 
bargain  ;  and  you  will  receive  from  me  a  supply  in  your 
necessities." 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  Francis  withdrew  into 
an  inner  apartment,  and  brought  out  the  required  sum  for 
his  brother's  subsistence  for  two  months.  George  remon- 
strated, but  Francis  was  positive  ;  he  had  been  saving,  and 
his  stock  was  ample  for  his  simple  habits  without  it. 

"  Besides,  you  forget  we  are  partners,  and  in  the  end  I 
shall  be  a  gainer." 

George  yielded  to  his  wants  and  his  brother's  entreaties, 
and  gave  him  great  credit  for  the  disinterestedness  of  the 
act.  Several  weeks  past  without  any  further  allusion  to 
this  disagreeable  subject,  which  had  at  least  the  favorable 
result  of  making  George  more  guarded  and  a  better 
student. 

The  brothers,  from  this  period,  advanced  gradually  in 
those  distinctive  qualities  which  were  to  mark  the  future 
men ;  George  daily  improving  in  grace  and  attraction, 
Francis,  in  an  equal  ratio,  receding  from  those  very  attain- 
ments, which  it  was  his  too  great  desire  to  possess.  In  the 
education  of  his  sons,  General  Denbigh  had  preserved  the 
appearance  of  impartiality  ;  his  allowance  to  each  was  the 
same ;  they  were  at  the  same  college,  they  had  been  at 
the  same  school  ;  and  if  Frank  did  not  improve  as  much 
as  his  younger  brother,  it  was  unquestionably  his  own 
obstinacy  and  stupidity,  and  surely  not  want  of  oppor- 
tunity or  favor. 

Such,  then,  were  the  artificial  .and  accidental  causes, 
which  kept  a  noble,  a  proud,  an  acute  but  a  diseased 
mind,  in  acquirements  much  below  another  every  way  its 
inferior,  excepting  in  the  happy  circumstance  of  wanting 


PRECA  UTION.  295 

those  very  excellences,  the  excess  and  indiscreet  manage- 
ment of  which  proved  the  ruin  instead  of  the  blessing  of 
their  possessor. 

The  duke  would  occasionally  rouse  himself  from  his 
lethargy,  and  complain  to  the  father,  that  the  heir  of  his, 
honors  was  far  inferior  to  his  younger  brother  in  acquire- 
ments, and  remonstrate  against  the  course  which  produced 
such  an  unfortunate  inequality.  On  these  occasions  a 
superficial  statement  of  his  system  from  the  general  met 
the  objection  ;  they  cost  the  same  money,  and  he  was  sure 
he  not  only  wished  but  did  everything  an  indulgent  parent 
could,  to  render  Francis  worthy  of  his  future  honors.  An- 
other evil  of  the  admission  of  feelings  of  partiality,  in  the 
favor  of  one  child,  to  the  prejudice  of  another,  is  that 
the  malady  is  contagious  as  well  as  lasting ;  it  exists  with. 
out  our  own  knowledge,  and  it  seldom  fails  to  affect  those 
around  us.  The  uncle  soon  learnt  to  distinguish  George 
as  the  hope  of  the  family,  yet  Francis  must  be  the  heir  of 
its  honors,  and  consequently  of  its  wealth. 

The  duke  and  his  brother  were  not  much  addicted  to 
action,  hardly  to  reflection  ;  but  if  anything  could  rouse 
them  to  either,  it  was  the  reputation  of  the  house  of  Den- 
bigh. Their  ideas  of  reputation,  it  is  true,  were  of  their 
own  forming. 

The  hour  at  length  drew  near  when  George  expected  a 
supply  from  the  ill-judged  generosity  of  his  mother ;  it 
came,  and  with  a  heart  beating  with  pleasure,  the  youth 
flew  to  the  room  of  Francis  with  a  determination  to  force 
the  whole  of  his  twenty,  pounds  on  his  acceptance.  On 
throwing  open  his  door,  he  saw  his  brother  evidently  striv- 
ing to  conceal  something  behind  his  books.  It  was  at  the 
hour  of  breakfast,  and  George  had  intended  for  a  novelty 
to  share  his  brother's  morning  repast.  They  always  met 
at  dinner,  but  the  other  meals  were  made  in  their  own 
rooms.  George  looked  in  vain  for  the  usual  equipage  of 
the  table  ;  suspicion  flashed  upon  him  ;  he  threw  aside  the 
books,  and  a  crust  of  bread  and  a  glass  of  water  met  his 
eye  ;  the  truth  now  flashed  upon  him  in  all  its  force. 

"  Francis,  my  brother,  to  what  has  my  extravagance  re- 
duced you  ! "  exclaimed  the  contrite  George  with  a  heart 
nearly  ready  to  burst.  Francis  endeavored  to  explain,  but  a 
sacred  regard  to  the  truth  held  him  tongue-tied,  until  drop- 
ping his  head  on  the"  shoulder  of  George,  he  sobbed  out — 

"  It  is  a  trifle  :  nothing  to  what  I  would  do  for  you,  my 
brother." 


£96  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

George  felt  all  the  horrors  of  remorse,  and  was  much 
too  generous  to  conceal  his  error  any  longer  ;  he  wrote  a 
circumstantial  account  of  the  whole  transaction  to  Lady 
Margaret. 

Francis  for  a  few  days  was  a  new  being.  He  had  acted 
nobly,  his  conscience  approved  of  his  motives,  and  of  his 
delicate  concealment  of  them  ;  he  in  fact  began  to  think 
there  were  in  himself  the  seeds  of  usefulness,  as  his  brother, 
who  from  this  moment  began  to  understand  his  character 
better,  attached  himself  more  closely  to  him. 

The  eye  of  Francis  met  that  of  George  with  the  look  of 
acknowledged  affection,  his  mind  became  less  moody,  and 
his  face  was  sometimes  embellished  with  a  smile. 

The  reply  of  their  mother  to  the  communication  of 
George  threw  a  damp  on  the  revived  hopes  of  the  senior, 
and  drove  him  back  into  himself  with  tenfold  humility. 

"  I  am  shocked,  my  child,  to  find  that  you  have  lowered 
yourself,  and  forgot  the  family  you  belong  to,  so  much  as 
to  frequent  those  gambling  houses,  which  ought  not  to  be 
suffered  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  universities  :  when  at 
a  proper  age  and  in  proper  company,  your  occasional  in- 
dulgence at  cards  I  could  not  object  to,  as  both  your  father 
and  myself  sometimes  resort  to  it  as  an  amusement,  but 
never  in  low  company.  The  consequence  of  mingling  in 
such  society  is,  that  you  were  cheated,  and  such  will  al- 
ways be  your  lot  unless  you  confine  yourself  to  associates 
more  becoming  your  rank  and  illustrious  name. 

"  As  to  Francis,  I  see  every  reason  to  condemn  the  course 
he  has  taken.  Being  the  senior  by  a  year,  he  should  have 
taken  the  means  to  prevent  your  falling  into  such  company ; 
and  he  should  have  acquainted  me  immediately  with  your 
loss,  in  place  of  wounding  your  pride  by  subjecting  you  to 
the  mortification  of  receiving  a  pecuniary  obligation  from 
one  so  little  older  than  yourself,  and  exposing  his  own 
health  by  a  diet  on  bread  and  water,  as  you  wrote  me,  for 
a  whole  month.  Both  the  general  and  myself  are  seriously 
displeased  with  him,  and  think  of  separating  you,  as  you 
thus  connive  at  each  other's  follies." 

George  was  too  indignant  to  conceal  this  letter,  and  the 
reflections  of  Francis  were  dreadful. 

For  a  short  time  he  actually  meditated  suicide,  as  the 
only  method  of  removing  himself  from  before  the  advance- 
ment of  George.  Had  not  George  been  more  attentive 
and  affectionate  than  formerly,  the  awful  expedient  might 
have  been  resorted  to. 


PRECAUTION.  29* 

From  college  the  young  men  went,  one  into  the  army 
and  the  other  to  the  mansion  of  his  uncle.  George  became 
an  elegant,  gay,  open-hearted,  admired  captain  in  the 
guards  ;  arid  Francis  stalked  through  the  halls  of  his  an- 
cestors, their  acknowledged  future  lord,  but  a  misanthrope; 
hateful  to  himself  and  disagreeable  to  all  around  him. 

This  picture  may  be  highly  wrought,  but  the  effects,  in 
the  case  of  Francis,  were  increased  by  the  peculiar  tone  ol 
his  diseased  state  of  mind.  The  indulgence  of  favoritism, 
nevertheless,  always  brings  its  own  sad  consequences,  in  a 
greater  or  less  degree,  while  it  seldom  fails  to  give  sorrow 
and  penitence  to  the  bosom  of  the  parents. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

No  little  art  and  management  had  been  necessary  to 
make  the  admiral  auxiliary  to  the  indirect  plan  proposed 
by  his  friend  to  bring  George  and  Isabel  together.  This, 
however,  effected,  the  general  turned  his  whole  strategy  to 
the  impression  to  be  made  on  the  heart  of  the  young  gen- 
tleman. 

Sir  Frederick  Denbigh  had  the  same  idea  of  the  virtue 
of  management  as  the  Dowager  Lady  Chatterton,  but  he 
understood  human  nature  better.  Like  a  prudent  officer, 
his  attacks  were  all  masked  ;  and,  like  a  great  officer,  they 
seldom  failed  of  success. 

The  young  couple  were  thrown  in  each  other's  way,  and 
as  Isabel  was  extremely  attractive,  somewhat  the  opposite 
to  himself  in  ardor  of  temperament  and  vivacity,  modest, 
and  sensible,  it  cannot  be  expected  that  the  association  was 
maintained  by  the  youth  with  perfect  impunity.  Within  a 
couple  of  months  he  fancied  himself  desperately  in  love 
with  Isabel  Howell ;  and  in  truth  he  had  some  reason  for 
the  supposition. 

The  general  watched  every  movement  of  his  son  with  a 
wary  and  vigilant  eye — occasionally  adding  fuel  to  the 
flame  by  drawing  his  attention  to  projects  of  matrimony  in 
other  quarters,  until  George  began  to  think  he  was  soon  to 
undergo  a  trial  of  his  constancy,  and  in  consequence  he 
armed  himself  with  a  double  portion  of  admiration  for  his 
Isabel,  in  order  to  enable  himself  to  endure  the  persecu- 
tion ;  while  the  admiral  several  times  endangered  the  suc- 
cess of  the  whole  enterprise  by  volunteer  contributions  to 


298  PRECA  UTION-. 

the  hopes  of  the  young  man,  which  only  escaped  producing 
an  opposite  effect  to  that  which  was  intended,  by  being  mis- 
taken for  the  overflowings  of  good  nature  and  friendship. 

After  suffering  his  son  to  get,  as  he  thought,  sufficiently 
entangled  in  the  snares  of  Cupid,  Sir  Frederick  determined 
to  fire  a  volley  from  one  of  his  masked  batteries,  which  he 
rightly  judged  would  bring  on  a  general  engagement.  They 
were  sitting  at  the  table  after  dinner  alone,  when  the  gen- 
eral took  the  advantage  of  the  name  of  Miss  Howell  being 
accidentally  mentioned,  to  say — 

"  By  the  by,  George,  my  friend  the  admiral  said  some- 
thing yesterday  on  the  subject  of  your  being  so  much  with 
his  daughter.  I  wish  you  to  be  cautious,  and  not  to  give 
the  old  sailor  offence  in  any  way,  for  he  is  my  particular 
friend." 

.  "  He  need  be  under  no  violent  apprehensions,"  cried 
George,  coloring  highly  with  shame  and  pride  ;  "  I  am 
sure  a  Denbigh  is  no  unworthy  match  for  a  daughter  of 
Sir  Peter  Howell." 

"  Oh  !  to  be  sure  not,  boy  ;  we  are  as  old  a  house  as 
there  is  in  the  kingdom,  and  as  noble,  too  ;  but  the  admi- 
ral has  queer  notions,  and  perhaps  he  has  some  cub  of  a 
sailor  in  his  eye  for  a  son-in-law.  Be  prudent,  my  boy,  be 
prudent  ;  that  is  all  I  ask  of  you." 

The  general,  satisfied  with  the  effect  he  had  produced, 
carelessly  arose  from  his  seat  and  joined  Lady  Margaret  in 
her  drawing-room. 

George  remained  for  several  minutes  musing  on  his 
father's  singular  request,  as  well  as  the  admiral's  caution, 
when  he  sprang  from  his  seat,  caught  up  his  hat  and  sword, 
and  in  ten  minutes  rang  at  Sir  Peter's  door  in  Grosvenor 
Square.  He  was  admitted,  and  ascending  to  the  drawing- 
room,  he  met  the  admiral  on  his  way  out.  Nothing  was 
further  from  the  thoughts  of  the  veteran  than  a  finesse  like 
the  general's  ;  and,  delighted  to  see  George  on  the  battle- 
ground, he  pointed  significantly  over  his  shoulder  toward 
the  door  of  the  room  Isabel  was  in,  and  exclaimed,  with  a 
good-natured  smile, 

"  There  she  is,  my  hearty  ;  lay  her  aside,  and  hang  me  if 
she  don't  strike.  I  say,  George,  faint  heart  never  won  fair 
lady  ;  remember  that,  my  boy  ;  no,  nor  a  French  ship." 

George  would  have  been  at  some  loss  to  have  reconciled 
this  speech  to  his  father's  caution,  if  time  had  been  allowed 
him  to  think  at  all  ;  but  the  door  being  open  he  entered, 
and  found  Isabel  endeavoring  to  hide  her 


PR  EC  A  UTION.  299 

The  admiral,  dissatisfied  from  the  beginning  with  the 
tardy  method  of  despatching  things,  thought  he  might  be 
of  use  in  breaking  the  ice  for  George,  by  trumpeting  his 
praises  on  divers  occasions  to  his  daughter.  Under  all  cir- 
cumstances, he  thought  she  might  be  learning  to  love  the 
man,  as  he  was  to  be  her  husband  ;  and  speeches  like  the 
following  had  been  frequent  of  late  from  the  parent  to  the 
child : 

"  There's  that  youngster,  George  Denbigh  ;  now,  Bell, 
is  he  not  a  fine-looking  lad  ?  Then  I  know  he  is  brave. 
His  father  before  him  was  good  stuff  and  a  true  English- 
man. What  a  proper  husband  he  would  make  for  a  young 
woman,  he  loves  his  king  and  country  so  ;  none  of  your 
new-fangled  notions  about  religion  and  government,  but  a 
sober,  religious  churchman  ;  that  is,  as  much  so,  girl,  as 
you  can  expect  in  the  guards.  No  Methodist,  to  be  sure  ; 
it's  a  great  pity  he  wasn't  sent  to  sea,  don't  you  think  so  ? 
But  cheer  up,  girl,  one  of  these  days  he  may  be  taking  a 
liking  to  you  yet." 

Isabel,  whose  fears  taught  her  the  meaning  of  these  elo- 
quent praises  of  Captain  Denbigh,  listened  to  these  ha- 
rangues in  silence,  and  often  meditated  on  their  import  by 
herself  in  tears. 

George  approached  the  sofa  on  which  the  lady  was  seated 
before  she  had  time  to  conceal  the  traces  of  her  sorrow, 
and  in  a  voice  softened  by  emotion,  he  took  her  hand 
gently  as  he  said — 

"What  can  have  occasioned  this  distress  to  Miss  Howell  ? 
If  anything  in  my  power  to  remove,  or  which  a  life  devoted 
to  her  service  can  mitigate,  she  has  only  to  command  me 
to  find  a  cheerful  obedience." 

"  The  trifling  causes  of  sorrow  in  a  young  woman,"  re- 
plied Isabel,  endeavoring  to  smile,  "will  hardly  require 
such  serious  services  to  remove  them." 

But  the  lady  was  extremely  interesting  at  the  moment. 
George  was  goaded  by  his  father's  caution,  and  urged  on 
by  his  own  feelings,  with  great  sincerity,  and  certainly 
much  eloquence,  he  therefore  proffered  his  love  and  hand 
to  the  acceptance  of  his  mistress. 

Isabel  heard  him  in  painful  silence.  She  respected  him 
and  dreaded  his  power  over  her  father  ;  but,  unwilling  to 
abandon  hopes  to  which  she  yet  clung  as  to  her  spring  of 
existence,  with  a  violent  effort  she  determined  to  throw 
herself  on  the  generosity  of  her  lover. 

During  her  father's  late  absence,  Isabel  had,  as  usual 


300  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

since  the  death  of  her  mother,  been  left  with  his  sister,  and 
had  formed  an  attachment  for  a  young  clergyman,  a  young- 
er son  of  a  baronet,  and  the  present  Dr.  Ives.  The  inclina- 
tion had  been  mutual  ;  and  as  Lady  Hawker  knew  her 
brother  to  be  perfectly  indifferent  to  money,  she  could  see 
no  possible  objection  to  its  indulgence. 

On  his  return,  Ives  made  his  proposals,  as  related  ;  and 
although  warmly  backed  by  the  recommendation  of  the 
aunt,  he  was  refused.  Out  of  delicacy,  the  wishes  of  Isa- 
bel had  not  been  mentioned  by  her  clerical  lover,  and  the 
admiral  supposed  he  had  only  complied  with  his  agreement 
with  the  general,  without  in  any  manner  affecting  the  hap- 
piness of  his  daughter  by  his  answer.  But  the  feelings 
which  prompted  the  request  still  remained  in  full  vigor  in 
the  lovers  ;  and  Isabel  now,  with  many  blushes  and  some 
hesitation  of  utterance,  made  George  fully  acquainted  with 
the  state  of  her  heart,  giving  him  at  the  same  time  to 
understand  that  he  was  the  only  obstacle  to  her  happi- 
ness. 

It  cannot  be  supposed  that  George  heard  her  without 
pain  or  mortification.  The  struggle  with  self-love  was  a 
severe  one,  but  his  better  feelings  prevailed,  and  he  assured 
the  anxious  Isabel  that  from  his  importunities  she  had 
nothing  to  apprehend  in  future.  The  grateful  girl  over- 
whelmed him  with  thanks,  and  George  had  to  fly  ere  he 
repented  of  his  own  generosity. 

Miss  Howell  intimated,  in  the  course  of  her  narrative, 
that  a  better  understanding  existed  between  their  parents 
than  the  caution  of  the  general  had  discovered  to  his  un- 
suspecting child,  and  George  was  determined  to  know  the 
worst  at  once. 

At  supper  he  mentioned,  as  if  in  remembrance  of  his 
father's  injunction,  that  he  had  been  to  take  his  leave  of 
Miss  Howell,  since  he  found  his  visits  gave  uneasiness  to 
her  friends.  "On  the  whole,"  he  added,  endeavoring  to 
yawn  carelessly,  "I  believe  I  shall  visit  there  no  more." 

"Nay,  nay,"  returned  Sir  Frederick,  a  little  displeased 
at  his  son's  obedience,  "  I  meant  no  such  thing.  Neither 
the  admiral  nor  myself  has  the  least  objection  to  your  visit- 
ing in  moderation  ;  indeed,  you  may  marry  the  girl  with 
all  our  hearts,  if  you  can  agree." 

"  But  we  can't  agree,  I  take  it,"  said  George,  looking  up 
at  the  wall. 

"  Why  not  ? — what  hinders  ?"  cried  his  father,  unguard' 
edly. 


PRECA  UTION.  301 

"Only — only  I  don't  like  her,"  said  the  son,  tossing  off 
a  glass  of  wine,  which  nearly  strangled  him. 

"You  don't!"  cried  the  general  with  great  warmth, 
thrown  entirely  off  his  guard  by  this  unexpected  declara- 
tion ;  uand  may  I  presume  to  ask  the  reason  why  you  do 
not  like  Miss  Howell,  sir?" 

"  Oh,  you  know  one  never  pretends  to  give  a  reason  for 
this  sort  of  feeling,  my  dear  sir." 

"Then,"  cried  his  father,  with  increasing  heat,  tl  you 
must  allow  me  to  say,  my  dear  sir,  that  the  sooner  you  get 
rid  of  these  sort  of  feelings  the  better.  I  choose  you  shall 
not  only  like,  but  love  Miss  Howell ;  and  this  I  have  prom- 
ised her  father." 

"I  thought  that  the  admiral  was  displeased  with  my 
coming  to  his  house  so  much — or  did  I  not  understand  you 
this  morning  ? " 

"  I  know  nothing  of  his  displeasure,  and  care  less.  He 
has  agreed  that  Isabel  shall  be  your  wife,  and  I  have  passed 
my  word  to  the  engagement ;  and  if,  sir,  you  wish  to  be 
considered  as  my  son,  you  will  prepare  to  comply." 

George  was  expecting  to  discover  some  management  on 
the  part  of  his  father,  but  by  no  means  so  settled  an  ar- 
rangement, and  his  anger  was  in  proportion  to  the  decep- 
tion. 

To  annoy  Isabel  any  further  was  out  of  the  question  ;  to 
betray  her,  base  ;  and  the  next  morning  he  sought  an  au- 
dience with  the  duke.  To  him  he  mentioned  his  wish  for 
actual  service,  but  hinted  that  the  maternal  fondness  of 
Lady  Margaret  was  averse  to  his  seeking  it.  This  was 
true,  and  George  now  pressed  his  uncle  to  assist  him  in 
effecting  an  exchange. 

The  boroughs  of  the  Duke  of  Derwent  were  represented 
by  royal  members  of  parliament,  his  two  brothers  being 
contemporary  with  Mr.  Benfield  in  that  honor  ;  and  a  re- 
quest from  a  man  who  sent  six  members  to  the  Commons., 
besides  having  a  seat  in  the  Lords  in  his  own  person,  must 
be  listened  to. 

Within  the  week  George  ceased  to  be  a  captain  in  the 
guards,  and  became  lieutenant-colonel  of  a  regiment  under 
orders  for  America. 

Sir  Frederick  soon  became  sensible  of  the  error  his 
warmth  had  led  him  into,  and  endeavored,  by  soothing  and 
indulgence,  to  gain  the  ground  he  had  so  unguardedly 
lost.  But  terrible  was  his  anger,  and  bitter  his  denuncia- 
tions, when  his  son  acquainted  him  with  his  approaching 


302  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

embarkation  with  his  new  regiment  for  America. 
quarrelled  ;  and  as  the  favorite  child  had  never,  until  now, 
been  thwarted  or  spoken  harshly  to,  they  parted  in  mutual 
disgust.  With  his  mother  George  was  more  tender  ;  and 
as  Lady  Margaret  never  thought  the  match  such  as  the 
descendant  of  two  lines  of  dukes  was  entitled  to  form,  she 
almost  pardoned  the  offence  in  the  cause. 

"  What's  this  here  ?"  cried  Sir  Peter  Howell,  as  he  ran 
over  a  morning  paper  at  the  breakfast  table  :  "  Captain 
Denbigh,  late  of  the  guards,  has  been  promoted  to  the 

lieutenant-colonelcy  of  the Foot,  and  sails  to-morrow 

to  join  that  regiment,  now  on  its  way  to  America." 

"  It's  a  lie,  Bell ! — it's  all  a  lie  !  not  but  what  he  ought 
to  be  there,  too,  serving  his  king  and  country  ;  but  he 
never  would  serve  you  so." 

"  Me  ?"  said  Isabel,  with  a  heart  throbbing  with  the  con- 
tending feelings  of  admiration  for  George's  generosity, 
and  delight  at  her  own  deliverance.  "  What  have  I  to  do 
with  the  movements  of  Mr.  Denbigh? " 

"  What !"  cried  her  father  in  astonishment;  "a'n't  you 
to  be  his  wife,  a'n't  it  all  agreed  upon — that  is,  between 
Sir  Frederick  and  me,  which  is  the  same  thing,  you 
know  " 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  the  sudden  appearance  of 
the  general  himself,  who  had  just  learnt  the  departure  of 
his  son,  and  hastened,  with  the  double  purpose  of  break- 
ing the  intelligence  to  his  friend,  and  of  making  his  own 
peace. 

"  See  here,  Denbigh,"  exclaimed  the  admiral,  pointing 
to  the  paragraph,  "  what  do  you  say  to  that  ? " 

"Too  true — too  true,  my  dear  friend,"  replied  the  gen- 
eral, shaking  his  head  mournfully. 

"  Hark  ye,  Sir  Frederick  Denbigh,"  cried  the  admiral 
fiercely ;  "  did  you  not  say  that  your  son  George  was  to 
marry  my  daughter  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  did,  Sir  Peter,  and  am  sorry  to  say  that,  in 
defiance  of  my  entreaties  and  commands,  he  has  deserted 
his  home,  and,  in  consequence,  I  have  discarded  him  for 
ever." 

"  Now,  Denbigh,"  said  the  admiral,  a  good  deal  mollified 
by  this  declaration,  "  have  I  not  always  told  you,  that  in 
the  army  you  know  nothing  of  discipline  ?  Why,  sir,  if  he 
was  a  son  of  mine,  he  should  marry  blindfolded,  if  I  chose 
to  order  it.  I  wish,  now,  Bell  had  an  offer,  and  dared  to 
refuse  it" 


PRECA  UTION. 


3°3 


"  There  is  the  barber's  clerk,  you  know,"  said  the  gen- 
eral, a  good  deal  irritated  by  the  contemptuous  manner  of 
his  friend. 

"And  what  of  that,  Sir  Frederick?"  said  the  sailor 
sternly  ;  "  if  I  choose  her  to  marry  a  quill-driver,  she  shall 
comply." 

"  Ah  !  my  good  friend,"  said  the  general,  willing  to  drop 
the  disagreeable  subject,  "I  am  afraid  we  shall  both  find 
it  more  difficult  to  control  the  affections  of  our  children 
than  we  at  first  imagined." 

"  You  do,  General  Denbigh  ? "  said  the  admiral,  with  a 
curl  of  contempt  on  his  lip  ;  and  ringiv.^  the  bell  violently, 
he  bid  the  servant  send  his  young  1  :  ly  to  him. 

On  the  appearance  of  Isabel,  her  father  inquired  with 
an  air  of  settled  meaning  where  young  Mr.  Ives  resided. 
It  was  only  in  the  next  street,  and  a  messenger  was  sent  to 
him,  with  Sir  Peter  Howell's  compliments,  and  a  request 
to  see  him  without  a  moment's  delay. 

"We'll  see,  we'll  see,  my  old  friend,  who  keeps  the  best 
discipline,"  muttered  the  admiral,  as  he  paced  up  and 
down  the  room,  in  eager  expectation  of  the  return  of  his 
messenger. 

The  wondering  general  gazed  on  his  friend,  to  ascertain 
if  he  was  out  of  his  senses.  He  knew  he  was  quick  to  de- 
cide, and  excessively  obstinate,  but  he  did  not  think  him 
so  crazy  as  to  throw  away  his  daughter  in  a  fit  of  spleen. 
It  never  occurred  to  Sir  Frederick,  however,  that  the  en- 
gagement with  himself  was  an  act  of  equal  injustice  and 
folly,  because  it  was  done  with  more  form  and  delibera- 
tion, which,  to  the  eye  of  sober  reason,  would  rather  make 
the  matter  worse.  Isabel  sat  in  trembling  suspense  for  the 
issue  of  the  scene,  and  Ives  in  a  few  minutes  made  his  ap- 
pearance in  no  little  alarm. 

On  entering,  the  admiral  addressed  him  abruptly,  by 
inquiring  if  he  still  wished  to  marry  that  girl,  pointing  to 
his  daughter.  The  reply  was  an  eager  affirmative.  Sir 
Peter  beckoned  to  Isabel,  who  approached,  covered  with 
blushes  ;  and  her  father  having  placed  her  hand  in  that  of 
her  lover,  with  an  air  of  great  solemnity  he  gave  them  his 
blessing.  The  young  people  withdrew  to  another  room  at 
Sir  Peter's  request,  when  he  turned  to  his  friend,  delighted 
with  his  own  decision  and  authority,  and  exclaimed, 

"There,  Fred  Denbigh,  that  is  what  I  call  being  minded." 

The  general  had  penetration  enough  to  see  that  the  re- 
sult was  agreeable  to  both  the  young  people,  a  thing  he 


304  PRECAUTION. 

had  long  apprehended  ;  and  being  glad  to  get  rid  of  the 
affair  in  any  way  that  did  not  involve  him  in  a  quarrel 
with  his  old  comrade,  he  gravely  congratulated  the  admi- 
ral on  his  good  fortune  and  retired. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Sir  Peter  to  himself,  as  he  paced  up  and 
down  his  room,  "  Denbigh  is  mortified  enough,  with  his 
joy,  and  felicity,  and  grandchildren.  I  never  had  any 
opinion  of  their  manner  of  discipline  at  all  ;  too  much 
bowing  and  scraping.  I'm  sorry,  though,  lie  is  a  priest  ; 
not  but  what  a  priest  may  be  as  good  a  man  as  another, 
but  let  him  behave  ever  so  well,  he  can  only  get  to  be  a 
bishop  at  the  most.  Heaven  forbid  lie  should  ever  get  to 
be  a  Pope!  After  all,  his  boys  may  be  admirals  if  they 
behave  themselves;"  and  he  went  to  seek  his  daughter, 
having  in  imagination  manned  her  nursery  with  vice  and 
rear  admirals  in  embryo  by  the  half  dozen. 

Sir  Peter  Howell  survived  the  marriage  of  his  daughter 
but  eighteen  months  ;  yet  that  was  sufficient  time  to  be- 
come attached  to  his  invaluable  son-in-law.  Mr.  Ives 
insensibly  led  the  admiral,  during  his  long  indisposition, 
to  a  more  correct  view  of  sacred  things  than  he  had  been 
wont  to  entertain  ;  and  the  old  man  breathed  his  last,  bless- 
ing both  his  children  for  their  kindness,  and  with  an  humble 
hope  of  future  happiness.  Some  time  before  his  death,  Isa- 
bel, whose  conscience  had  always  reproached  her  with  the 
deception  practised  on  her  father,  and  with  the  banishment 
of  George  from  his  country  and  home,  threw  herself  at  the 
feet  of  Sir  Peter,  and  acknowledged  her  transgression. 

The  admiral  heard  her  in  astonishment,  but  not  in  anger. 
His  opinions  of  life  had  sensibly  changed,  and  his  great 
cause  of  satisfaction  with  his  new  son  removed  all  motives  for 
regret  for  anything  but  for  the  fate  of  poor  George.  With 
the  noble  forbearance  and  tenderness  of  the  young  man  to 
his  daughter  the  hardy  veteran  was  sensibly  touched  ;  and 
his  entreaties  with  Sir  Frederick  made  his  peace  with  a 
father  already  longing  for  the  return  of  his  only  hope. 

The  admiral  left  Colonel  Denbigh  his  blessing,  and  his 
favorite  pistols,  as  a  remembrance  of  his  esteem  ;  but  he 
did  not  live  to  see  the  reunion  with  his  family. 

George  had  soon  learnt,  deprived  of  hope  and  in  the 
midst  of  novelty,  to  forget  a  passion  which  could  no  longer 
be  prosperous  ;  and  two  years  from  his  departure  returned 
to  England,  glowing  in  health,  and  improved  in  person  and 
manners  by  a  more  extensive  knowledge  of  the  world  and 
mankind. 


PRECA  UTION~.  305 


CHAPTER   XLIV. 

DURING  the  time  occupied  by  the  foregoing  events, 
Francis  continued  a  gloomy  inmate  of  his  uncle's  house. 
The  Duke  and  his  brother  George  were  too  indolent  and 
inactive  in  their  minds  to  pierce  the  cloud  that  mortifica- 
tion and  deadened  affections  had  drawn  around  the  real 
character  of  their  nephew  ;  and  although  he  was  tolerated 
as  the  heir,  he  was  but  little  loved  as  a  man. 

In  losing  his  brother,  Francis  lost  the  only  human  being 
with  whom  he  possessed  any  sympathies  in  common  ;  and 
he  daily  drew  more  and  more  into  himself,  in  gloomy 
meditation  on  his  forlorn  situation  in  the  midst  of  wealth 
and  expected  honors.  The  attentions  he  received  were 
paid  to  his  rank,  and  Francis  had  penetration  enough  to 
perceive  it.  His  visits  to  his  parents  were  visits  of  cere- 
mony, and  in  time  all  parties  came  to  look  to  their  termi- 
nation with  pleasure  as  to  the  discontinuance  of  heartless 
and  forced  civilities. 

Affection,  even  in  the  young  man,  could  not  endure,  re- 
pulsed as  his  feelings  were,  forever ;  and  in  the  course  of 
three  years,  if  his  attachments  were  not  alienated  from  his 
parents,  his  ardor  had  become  much  abated. 

It  is  a  dreadful  truth,  that  the  bonds  of  natural  affec- 
tion can  be  broken  by  injustice  and  contumely  ;  and  it  is 
yet  more  to  be  deplored,  that  when  from  such  causes  we 
loosen  the  ties  habit  and  education  have  drawn  around  us, 
a  reaction  in  our  feelings  commences  ;  we  seldom  cease  to 
love,  but  we  begin  to  hate.  Against  such  awful  conse- 
quences it  is  one  of  the  most  solemn  duties  of  the  parent 
to  provide  in  season  ;  and  what  surer  safeguard  is  there,, 
than  to  inculcate  those  feelings  which  teach  the  mind  to 
love  God,  and  in  so  doing  induce  love  to  the  whole  human 
family  ? 

Sir  Frederick  and  Lady  Margaret  attended  the  church 
regularly,  repeated  the  responses  with  much  decency, 
toasted  the  Church  next  to  the  king,  even  appeared  at  the 
altars  of  their  God,  and  continued  sinners.  From  such 
sowings,  no  good  fruit  could  be  expected  to  flourish  ;  yet 
Francis  was  not  without  his  hours  of  devotion  ;  but  his 
religion  was,  like  himself,  reserved,  superstitious,  ascetic, 
and  gloomy.  He  never  entered  into  social  worship  :  if  he 
prayed,  it  was  with  an  ill-concealed  wish  to  end  this  life  of 


306  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

care.  Tf  ke  returned  thanks,  it  was  with  a  bitterness  that 
mocked  the  throne  before  which  he  was  prostrate.  Such 
pictures  are  revolting  ;  but  their  originals  have  and  do 
exist  ;  for  what  enormity  is  there  of  which  human  frailty, 
unchecked  by  divine  assistance,  may  not  be  guilty  ? 

Francis  received  an  invitation  to  visit  a  brother  of  his 
mother's  at  his  seat  in  the  country,  about  the  time  of  the 
expected  return  of  George  from  America  ;  and  in  compli- 
ance with  the  wishes  of  his  uncles  he  accepted  it.  The 
house  was  thronged  with  visitors,  and  many  of  them  were 
ladies.  To  these,  the  arrival  of  the  unmarried  heir  of 
the  house  of  Derwent  was  a  subject  of  no  little  interest. 
His  character  had,  however,  preceded  him,  and  a  few  days 
of  his  awkward  and,  as  they  conceived,  sullen  deportment 
drove  them  back  to  their  former  beaux,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  one;  and  "she  was  not  only  among  the  fairest  of 
the  throng,  but  decidedly  of  the  highest  pretensions  on 
the  score  of  birth  and  fortune. 

Marian  Lumley  was  the  only  surviving  child  of  the  last 
Duke  of  Annerdale,  with  whom  had  expired  the  higher 
honors  of  his  house.  But  the  Earldom  of  Pendennyss, 
with  numerous  ancient  baronies,  were  titles  in  fee  ;  and  to- 
gether with  his  princely  estates  had  descended  to  his 
daughter  as  heir-general  of  the  family.  A  peeress  in  her 
own  right,  with  an  income  far  exceeding  her  utmost 
means  of  expenditure,  the  lovely  Countess  of  Pendennyss 
was  a  prize  aimed  at  by  all  the  young  nobles  of  the  em- 
pire. 

Educated  in  the  midst  of  flatterers  and  dependants  she 
had  become  haughty,  vain,  and  supercilious  ;  still  she  was 
lovely,  and  no  one  knew  better  how  to  practise  the  most 
winning  arts  of  her  sex,  when  whim  or  interest  prompted 
her  to  the  trial. 

Her  host  was  her  guardian  and  relative  ;  and  through 
his  agency  she  had  rejected,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  numer- 
ous suitors  for  her  hand.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
ducal  coronet  ;  and  unfortunately  for  Francis  Denbigh,  he 
was,  at  the  time,  the  only  man  of  the  proper  age  who  could 
elevate  her  to  that  enviable  distinction  in  the  kingdom  ; 
and  an  indirect  measure  of  her  own  had  been  the  means 
of  his  invitation  to  the  country. 

Like  the  rest  of  her  young  companions,  Marian  was 
greatly  disappointed  on  the  view  of  her  intended  captive, 
and  for  a  day  or  two  she  abandoned  him  to  his  melancholy 
and  himself.  But  ambition  was  her  idol ;  and  to  its  pow- 


PRECA  UTION.  307 

erful  rival,  love,  she  was  yet  a  stranger.  After  a  few  strug- 
gles with  her  inclinations  the  consideration  that  their 
united  fortunes  and  family  alliances  would  make  one  of 
the  wealthiest  and  most  powerful  houses  in  the  kingdom, 
prevailed.  Such  early  sacrifices  of  the  inclinations  in  a 
woman  of  her  beauty,  youth,  and  accomplishments,  may 
excite  surprise  ;  but  where  the  mind  is  left  uncultivated 
by  the  hand  of  care,  the  soul  untouched  by  the  love  of 
goodness,  the  human  heart  seldom  fails  to  set  up  an  idol 
of  its  own  to  worship.  In  the  Countess  of  Pendennyss 
this  idol  was  pride. 

The  remainder  of  the  ladies,  from  ceasing  to  wonder  at 
the  manners  of  Francis,  had  made  them  the  subject  of 
their  mirth  ;  and  nettled  at  his  apparent  indifference  to 
their  society,  which  they  erroneously  attributed  to  his 
sense  of  importance,  they  overstepped  the  bounds  of  good- 
breeding  in  manifesting  their  displeasure. 

"  Mr.  Denbigh,"  cried  one  of  the  most  thoughtless  and 
pretty  of  the  gay  tribe  to  him  one  day,  as  Francis  sat  in  a 
corner  abstracted  from  the  scene  around  him,  "when  do 
you  mean  to  favor  the  world  with  your  brilliant  ideas  in 
the  shape  of  a  book  ?  " 

"Oh!  no  doubt  soon,"  said  a  second;  "and  I  expect 
they  will  be  homilies,  or  another  volume  to  the  *  Whole  Duty 
of  Man.'  " 

"Rather,"  cried  a  third,  with  bitter  irony,  "another  can- 
to to  the  '  Rape  of  the  Lock,'  his  ideas  are  so  vivid  and  full 
of  imagery." 

"  Or,  what  do  you  think,"  said  a  fourth,  speaking  in  a 
voice  of  harmony  and  tones  of  the  most  soothing  tender- 
ness, "  of  pity  and  compassion  for  the  follies  of  those  in- 
ferior minds  who  cannot  enjoy  the  reflections  of  a  good 
sense  and  modesty  peculiarly  his  own  ?" 

This  also  might  be  irony,  and  Francis  thought  it  so ;  but 
the  tones  were  so  soft  and  conciliating,  that  with  a  face 
pale  with  his  emotions  he  ventured  to  look  up,  and  met  the 
eye  of  Marian  fixed  on  him,  in  an  expression  that  changed 
his  death-like  hue  into  the  color  of  vermilion. 

He  thought  of  this  speech  ;  he  reasoned  on  it  ;  he  dreamt 
on  it.  But  for  the  looks  which  accompanied  it,  like  the 
rest  of  the  party,  he  would  have  thought  it  the  crudest  cut 
of  them  all.  But  that  look,  those  eyes,  that  voice — what  a 
commentary  on  her  language  did  they  not  afford  ! 

Francis  was  not  long  in  suspense  ;  the  next  morning  an 
excursion  was  proposed,  which  included  all  but  himself  in 


308  PRECA  UTIOlsr. 

its  arrangements.  He  was  either  too  reserved  or  too  proud 
to  offer  services  which  were  not  required. 

Several  gentlemen  had  contended  for  the  honor  of  driving 
the  countess  in  a  beautiful  phaeton  of  her  own.  They  grew 
earnest  in  their  claims  :  one  had  been  promised  by  its  mis- 
tress with  an  opportunity  of  trying  the  ease  of  the  carriage; 
another  was  delighted  with  the  excellent  training  of  her 
horses  ;  in  short,  all  had  some  particular  claim  to  the  dis- 
tinction, which  was  urged  with  a  warmth  and  pertinacity 
proportionate  to  the  value  of  the  prize  to  be  obtained. 
Marian  heard  the  several  claimants  with  an  ease  and  indif- 
ference natural  to  her  situation,  and  ended  the  dispute  by 
saying — 

"  Gentlemen,  as  I  have  made  so  many  promises  from  the 
dread  of  giving  offence,  I  must  throw  myself  on  the  mercy 
of  Mr.  Denbigh,  who  alone,  with  the  best  claims,  does  not 
urge  them.  To  you,  then,"  continued  she,  approaching 
him  with  the  whip  which  was  to  be  given  the  victor,  "  I  ad- 
judge the  prize,  if  you  will  condescend  to  accept  it." 

This  was  uttered  with  one  of  her  most  attractive  smiles, 
and  Francis  received  the  whip  with  an  emotion  that  he  with 
difficulty  could  control. 

The  gentlemen  were  glad  to  have  the  contest  decided  by 
adjudging  the  prize  to  one  so  little  dangerous,  and  the  la- 
dies sneered  at  her  choice  as  they  left  the  house. 

There  was  something  so  soothing  in  the  manners  of  Lady 
Pendennyss,  she  listened  to  the  little  he  said  with  such  a 
respectful  attention,  was  so  anxious  to  have  him  give  his 
opinions,  that  the  unction  of  flattery,  thus  sweetly  applied 
and  for  the  first  time,  could  not  fail  of  its  wonted  effects. 

The  communications  thus  commenced  were  continued. 
It  was  so  easy  to  be  attentive  by  being  simply  polite  to  one 
unused  to  notice  of  any  kind,  that  Marian  found  the  fate 
of  the  young  man  in  her  hands  almost  as  soon  as  she  at- 
tempted to  control  it. 

A  new  existence  opened  upon  Francis,  as  day  after  day 
she  insensibly  led  him  to  a  display  of  powers  he  was  un- 
conscious until  now  of  possessing  himself.  His  self-respect 
began  to  increase,  his  limited  pleasures  to  multiply,  and  h& 
could  now  look  around  him  with  a  sense  of  participation 
in  the  delights  of  life,  as  he  perceived  himself  of  conse- 
quence to  this  much  admired  woman. 

Trifling  incidents,  managed  on  her  part  with  consummate 
art,  had  led  him  to  the  daring  inference  that  he  was  not  en- 
tirely indifferent  to  her  ;  and  Francis  returned  the  incipient 


PRECA  UTION.  309 

affection  of  his  mistress  with  a  feeling  but  little  removed 
from  adoration.  Week  flew  by  after  week,  and  still  he 
lingered  at  the  residence  of  his  kinsman,  unable  to  tear 
himself  from  the  society  of  one  so  worshipped,  and  yet 
afraid  to  take  a  step  by  making  a  distinct  declaration  which 
might  involve  him  in  disgrace  or  ridicule. 

The  condescension  of  the  countess  increased,  and  she 
had  indirectly  given  him  the  most  flattering  assurances  of 
his  success,  when  George,  just  arrived  from  America,  hav- 
ing first  paid  his  greetings  to  his  reconciled  parents  and 
the  happy  couple  of  his  generosity,  flew  to  the  arms  of 
his  brother  in  Suffolk. 

Francis  was  overjoyed  to  see  George,  and  George  de- 
lighted in  the  visible  improvement  of  his  brother.  Still 
Francis  was  far,  very  far  behind  his  junior  in  graces  of 
mind  and  body  ;  indeed,  few  men  in  England  were  more 
adapted  by  nature  and  education  for  female  society  than 
was  Colonel  Denbigh,  at  the  period  of  which  we  write. 

Marian  witnessed  all  his  attractions  and  deeply  felt  their 
influence.  For  the  first  time  she  felt  the  emotions  of  the 
gentle  passion  ;  and  after  having  sported  in  the  gay  world, 
and  trifled  with  the  feelings  of  others  for  years,  the 
countess  in  her  turn  became  an  unwilling  victim  to  its 
power.  George  met  her  flame  with  a  corresponding 
ardor,  and  the  struggle  between  ambition  and  love  became 
severe.  The  brothers,  unconsciously,  were  rivals. 

Had  George  for  a  moment  suspected  the  situation  of 
the  feelings  of  Francis,  his  very  superiority  in  the  contest 
would  have  induced  him  to  retreat  from  the  unnatural 
rivalry.  Had  the  elder  dreamt  of  the  views  of  his  junior, 
he  would  have  abandoned  his  dearest  hopes  in  utter  de- 
spair. Francis  had  so  long  been  accustomed  to  consider 
George  as  his  superior  in  everything,  that  a  competition 
with  him  would  have  appeared  desperate.  Marian  con- 
trived to  keep  both  in  hopes,  undecided  herself  which  to 
choose,  and  perhaps  ready  to  yield  to  the  first  applicant. 
A  sudden  event,  however,  removed  all  doubts,  and  decided 
the  fate  of  the  three. 

The  Duke  of  Derwent  and  his  bachelor  brother  became 
so  dissatisfied  with  the  character  of  their  future  heir,  that 
they  as  coolly  set  about  providing  themselves  with  wives  as 
they  had  performed  any  other  ordinary  transaction  of  life. 
They  married  cousins,  and  on  the  same  day  the  choice  of 
the  ladies  was  assigned  between  them  by  lots  ;  and  if  his 
grace  got  the  prettier,  his  brother  certainly  got  the  richest 


310  PRECA  (JTIOiV. 

—under  the  circumstances  a  very  tolerable  distribution  of 
fortune's  favors. 

These  double  marriages  dissolved  the  charm  of  Francis, 
and  Lady  Pendennyss  determined  to  consult  her  wishes  ;  a 
little  pointed  encouragement  brought  out  the  declaration 
of  George,  and  he  was  accepted. 

Francis,  who  had  never  communicated  his  feelings  to  any 
one  but  the  lady,  and  that  only  indirectly,  was  crushed  by  the 
blow.  He  continued  in  public  until  the  day  of  their  union, 
was  present,  composed  and  silent  ;  but  it  was  the  silence 
of  a  mountain  whose  volcanic  contents  had  not  reached 
the  surface.  The  same  day  he  disappeared,  and  every  in- 
quiry after  him  proved  fruitless  ;  search  was  baffled,  and 
for  seven  years  it  was  not  known  what  had  become  of  the 
general's  eldest  son. 

George  on  marrying  resigned  his  commission,  at  the 
entreaties  of  his  wife,  and  retired  to  one  of  her  seats,  to 
the  enjoyment  of  ease  and  domestic  love.  The  countess 
was  enthusiastically  attached  to  him  ;  and  as  motives  for 
the  indulgence  of  coquetry  were  wanting,  her  character 
became  gradually  improved  by  the  contemplation  of  the 
excellent  qualities  of  her  generous  husband. 

A  lurking  suspicion  of  the  cause  of  Francis's  sudden  dis- 
appearance rendered  her  uneasy  at  times  ;  but  Marian 
was  too  much  beloved,  too  happy,  in  the  enjoyment  of  too 
many  honors,  and  of  too  great  wealth,  to  be  open  to  the  con- 
victions of  conscience.  It  is  in  our  hours  of  pain  and  priva- 
tion that  we  begin  to  feel  its  sting  ;  if  we  are  prosperous, 
we  fancy  we  reap  the  fruits  of  our  own  merit  ;  but  if 
we  are  unfortunate,  the  voice  of  truth  seldom  fails  to  re- 
mind us  that  we  are  deserving  of  our  fate  : — a  blessed  pro- 
vision of  Providence  that  often  makes  the  saddest  hours 
of  our  earthly  career  the  morn  of  a  day  that  is  to  endure 
for  ever. 

General  Denbigh  and  Lady  Margaret  both  died  within 
five  years  of  the  marriage  of  their  favorite  child,  although 
both  lived  to  see  their  descendant,  in  the  person  of  the  in- 
fa,nt  Lord  Lumley. 

The  duke  and  his  brother  George  were  each  blessed 
with  offspring,  and  in  these  several  descendants  of  the  dif- 
ferent branches  of  the  family  of  Denbigh  may  be  seen  the 
different  personages  of  our  history.  On  the  birth  of  her 
youngest  child,  the  Lady  Marian,  the  Countess  of  Penden- 
nyss sustained  a  shock  in  her  health  from  which  she  never 
wholly  recovered  ;  she  became  nervous,  and  losj;  most  of 


her  energy  both  of  mind  and  body.  Her  husband  was  her 
solace  ;  his  tenderness  remaining  unextinguished,  while 
his  attentions  increased. 

As  the  fortune  of  Ives  and  Isabel  put  the  necessity  of  a 
living  out  of  the  question,  and  no  cure  offering  for  the  ac- 
ceptance of  the  first,  he  was  happy  to  avail  himself  of  an 
offer  to  become  domestic  chaplain  to  his  now  intimate 
friend,  Mr.  Denbigh.  For  the  first  six  years  they  were  in- 
mates of  Pendennyss  Castle.  The  rector  of  the  parish  was 
infirm,  and  averse  to  a  regular  assistant ;  but  the  unob- 
trusive services  of  Mr.  Ives  were  not  less  welcome  to  the 
pastor  than  to  his  parishioners. 

Employed  in  the  duties  which  of  right  fell  to  the  incum- 
bent, and  intrusted  with  the  spiritual  guardianship  of  the 
dependants  of  the  castle,  our  young  clergyman  had  ample 
occupation  for  all  his  time,  if  not  a  sufficient  theatre  for 
his  usefulness.  Isabel  and  himself  remained  the  year  round 
in  Wales,  and  the  first  dawnings  of  education  received  by 
Lord  Lumley  were  those  he  acquired  conjointly  with 
Francis  from  the  care  of  the  latter's  father.  They  formed, 
with  the  interval  of  the  time  spent  by  Mr.  Denbigh  and 
Lady  Pendennyss  in  town  in  winter,  but  one  family.  To 
the  gentleman,  the  attachment  of  the  grateful  Ives  was  as 
strong  as  it  was  lasting.  Mrs.  Ives  never  ceased  to  con- 
sider him  as  a  self-devoted  victim  to  her  happiness  ;  and 
although  a  far  more  brilliant  lot  had  awaited  him  by  the 
change,  yet  her  own  husband  could  not  think  it  a  more 
happy  one. 

The  birth  of  Lady  Marian  had  already,  in  its  conse- 
quences, begun  to  throw  a  gloom  round  the  domestic  com- 
forts of  Denbigh,  when  he  was  to  sustain  another  misfor- 
tune in  a  separation  from  his  friends. 

Mr.,  now  Dr.  Ives,  had  early  announced  his  firm  inten- 
tion, whenever  an  opportunity  wTas  afforded  him,  to  enter 
into  the  fullest  functions  of  his  ministry,  as  a  matter  of 

duty.  Such  an  opportunity  now  offered  at  B ,  and  the 

doctor  became  its  rector  about  the  period  Sir  Edward  be- 
came possessor  of  his  paternal  estate. 

Denbigh  tried  every  inducement  within  his  power  to 
keep  the  doctor  in  his  own  society.  If  as  many  thousands 
as  his  living  would  give  him  hundreds  could  effect  it,  they 
would  have  been  at  his  service  ;  but  Denbigh  understood 
the  character  of  the  divine  too  well  to  offer  such  an  induce^ 
ment ;  he  however  urged  the  claims  of  friendship  to  the 
utmost,  but  without  success. 


3 1 2  PRECAUTION. 

The  doctor  acknowledged  the  hold  both  himself  and 
family  had  gained  upon  his  affections,  but  he  added — 

"  Consider,  my  dear  Mr.  Denbigh,  what  we  would  have 
thought  of  one  of  the  earlier  followers  of  our  Saviour,  who 
from  motives  of  convenience  or  worldly-mindedness  could 
have  deserted  his  sacred  calling.  Although  the  changes 
in  the  times  may  have  rendered  the  modes  of  conducting 
them  different,  necessarily  the  duties  remain  the  same. 
The  minister  of  our  holy  religion  who  has  once  submitted 
to  the  call  of  his  divine  Master,  must  allow  nothing  but 
ungovernable  necessity  to  turn  him  from  the  path  he  has 
entered  on  ;  and  should  he  so  far  forget  himself,  I  greatly 
fear  he  would  plead,  when  too  late  to  remedy  the  evil,  his 
worldly  duties,  his  cares,  or  even  his  misfortunes,  in  vain. 
Solemn  and  arduous  are  his  obligations  to  labor,  but  when 
faithfully  he  has  discharged  these  duties,  oh  !  how  glorious 
must  be  his  reward." 

Before  such  opinions  every  barrier  must  fall,  and  the 
doctor  entered  into  the  cure  of  his  parish  without  further 
opposition,  though  not  without  unceasing  regret  on  the 
part  of  his  friend.  Their  intercourse  was,  however,  main- 
tained by  letter,  and  they  also  frequently  met  at  Lumley 
Castle,  a  seat  of  the  countess's,  within  two  days'  ride  of  the 
doctor's  parish,  until  her  increasing  indisposition  rendered 
journeying  impossible  ;  then,  indeed,  the  doctor  extended 
his  rides  into  Wales,  but  with  longer  intervals  between  his 
visits,  though  with  the  happiest  effects  to  the  objects  of 
his  journey. 

Mr.  Denbigh,  worn  down  with  watching  and  blasted 
hopes,  under  the  direction  of  the  spiritual  watchfulness  of 

the  rector  of  B ,  became  an  humble,  sincere,  and  pious 

Christian. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

IT  has  been  already  mentioned  that  the  health  of  Lady 
Pendennyss  suffered  a  severe  shock,  in  giving  birth  to  a 
daughter.  Change  of  scene  was  prescribed  as  a  remedy 
for  her  disorder,  and  Denbigh  and  his  wife  were  on  their 
return  from  afruitless  excursion  among  the  northern  lakes, 
in  pursuit  of  amusement  and  relief  for  the  latter,  when 
they  were  compelled  to  seek  shelter  from  the  fury  of  a 
sudden  gust  in  the  first  building  that  offered.  It  was  a 
farm-house  of  the  better  sort ;  and  the  attendants,  car- 


PRECA  UTIOM,  313 

riages,  and  appearance  of  their  guests,  caused  no  little 
confusion  to  its  simple  inmates.  A  fire  was  lighted  in  the 
best  parlor,  and  every  effort  was  made  by  the  inhabitants 
to  contribute  to  the  comforts  of  the  travellers. 

The  countess  and  her  husband  were  sitting  in  that  kind 
of  listless  melancholy  which  had  been  too  much  the  com- 
panion of  their  later  hours,  when  in  the  interval  of  the 
storm  a  male  voice  in  an  adjoining  room  commenced  sing- 
ing the  following  ballad  ;  the  notes  being  low,  monotonous, 
but  unusually  sweet,  and  the  enunciation  so  distinct  as  to 
render  every  syllable  intelligible  : 

Oh  !  I  have  lived  in  endless  pain, 
And  I  have  lived,  alas  !  in  vain, 

For  none  regard  my  woe — 
No  father's  care  conveyed  the  truth, 
No  mother's  fondness  blessed  my  youth, 

Ah  !  joys  too  great  to  know — 

And  Marian's  love  and  Marian's  pride, 
Have  crushed  the  heart  that  would  have  died 

To  save  my  Marian's  tears — 
A  brother's  hand  has  struck  the  blow, 
Oh  !  may  that  brother  never  know 

Such  madly  sorrowing  years ! 

But  hush  my  griefs — and  hush  my  song. 

I've  mourned  in  vain — I've  mourned  too  long, 

When  none  have  come  to  soothe — 
And  dark's  the  path  that  lies  before, 
And  dark  have  been  the  days  of  yore, 

And  all  was  dark  in  youth. 

The  maids  employed  around  the  person  of  their  com- 
fortless mistress,  the  valet  of  Denbigh  engaged  in  arrang- 
ing a  dry  coat  for  his  master — all  suspended  their  employ- 
ments to  listen  in  breathless  silence  to  the  mournful 
melody  of  the  song. 

But  Denbigh  himself  had  started  from  his  seat  at  the 
first  notes,  and  he  continued  until  the  voice  ceased,  gazing 
in  vacant  horror  in  the  direction  of  the  sounds.  A  door 
opened  from  the  parlor  to  the  room  of  the  musician  ;  he 
rushed  through  it,  and  there,  in  a  kind  of  shed  to  the 
building,  which  hardly  sheltered  him  from  the  fury  of  the 
tempest,  clad  in  the  garments  of  the  extremest  poverty, 
with  an  eye  roving  in  madness,  and  a  body  rocking  to  and 
fro  from  mental  inquietude,  he  beheld,  seated  on  a  stone, 
the  remains  of  his  long  lost  brother  Francis. 


3  H  PRECAUTION. 

The  language  of  the  song  was  too  plain  to  be  misunder- 
stood. The  truth  glared  around  George  with  a  violence 
that  dazzled  his  brain  ;  but  he  saw  it  all,  he  felt  it  all,  and 
rushing  to  the  feet  of  his  brother,  he  exclaimed  in  horror, 
pressing  his  hands  between  his  own — 

•"Francis,  my  own  brother — do  yeu  not  know  me  ?" 
The  maniac  regarded  him  with  a  vacant  gaze,  but  the 
voice  and  the  person  recalled  the  compositions  of  his  more 
reasonable  moments  to  his  recollection  ;  pushing  back  the 
hair  of  George,  so  as  to  expose  his  fine  forehead  to  view, 
he  contemplated  him  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  con- 
tinued to  sing,  in  a  voice  rendered  still  sweeter  than  be- 
fore by  his  faint  impressions  : 

His  raven  locks,  that  richly  curled, 
His  eye,  that  proud  defiance  hurled, 

Have  stol'n  my  Marian's  love  ! 
Had  I  been  blest  by  nature's  grace, 
With  such  a  form,  with  such  a  face, 

Could  I  so  treacherous  prove  ? 

And  what  is  man — and  what  is  care — 
That  he  should  let  such  passions  tear 

The  bases  of  the  soul  ? 
Oh  !  you  should  do  as  I  have  done — 
And  having  pleasure's  summit  won, 

Each  bursting  sob  control ! 

On  ending  the  last  stanza,  the  maniac  released  his 
brother,  and  broke  into  the  wildest  laugh  of  madness. 

"  Francis  ! — Oh  !  Francis,  my  brother  !  "  cried  George 
in  bitterness.  A  piercing  shriek  drew  his  eye  to  the  door 
he  had  passed  through — on  its  threshold  lay  the  senseless 
body  of  his  wife.  The  distracted  husband  forgot  every- 
thing in  the  situation  of  his  Marian,  and  raising  her  in  his 
arms  he  exclaimed — 

"  Marian — my  Marian,  revive — look  up — know  me." 

Francis  had  followed  him  and  now  stood  by  his  side, 
gazing  intently  on  the  lifeless  body  ;  his  looks  became 
more  soft — his  eye  glanced  less  wildly — he,  too,  cried— 

"Marian — my  Marian." 

There  was  a  mighty  effort ;  nature  could  endure  no 
more,  he  broke  a  blood-vessel  and  fell  at  the  feet  of 
George.  They  flew  to  his  assistance,  giving  the  countess 
to  her  women  :  but  he  was  dead. 

For  seventeen  years  Lady  Pendennyss  survived  this 
shock  ;  but,  having  reached  her  own  abode,  during  that 
long  period  she  never  left  her  room. 


PRECAUTION.  315 

In  the  confidence  of  his  surviving  hopes,  Dr.  Ives  and 
his  wife  were  made  acquainted  with  the  real  cause  of  the 
grief  of  their  friend,  but  the  truth  went  no  further.  Den- 
bigh was  the  guardian  of  his  three  young  cousins,  the 
duke,  his  sister,  and  young  George  Denbigh;  these,  with 
his  son,  Lord  Lumley,  and  daughter,  Lady  Marian,  were 
removed  from  the  melancholy  of  the  castle  to  scenes  better 
adapted  to  their  opening  prospects  in  life.  Yet  Lumley 
was  fond  of  the  society  of  his  father,  and  finding  him  a 
youth  endowed  beyond  his  years,  the  care  of  his  parent 
was  early  turned  to  the  most  important  of  his  duties  in 
that  sacred  office  ;  and  when  he  yielded  to  his  wishes  to  go 
into  the  army,  he  knew  he  went  a  youth  of  sixteen,  pos- 
sessed of  principles  and  self-denial  that  would  become  a 
man  of  five-and-twenty. 

General  Wilson  completed  the  work  which  the  father 
had  begun  ;  and  Lord  Lumley  formed  a  singular  exception 
to  the  character  of  most  of  his  companions. 

At  the  close  of  the  Spanish  war  he  returned  home,  and 
was  just  in  time  to  receive  the  parting  breath  of  his  mother. 

A  few  days  before  her  death  the  countess  requested  that 
her  children  might  be  made  acquainted  with  her  history 
and  misconduct  ;  and  she  placed  in  the  hands  of  her  son  a 
letter,  with  directions  for  him  to  open  it  after  her  decease. 
It  was  addressed  to  both  children,  and  after  recapitulating 
generally  the  principal  events  of  her  life,  continued  : 

"Thus,  my  children,  you  perceive  the  consequences  of 
indulgence  and  hardness  of  heart,  which  made  me  insensi- 
ble to  the  sufferings  of  others,  and  regardless  of  the  plain- 
est dictates  of  justice.  Self  was  my  idol.  The  love  of 
admiration,  which  was  natural  to  me,  was  increased  by  the 
flatterers  who  surrounded  me  ;  and  had  the  customs  of  our 
country  suffered  royalty  to  descend  in  their  unions  to  a 
grade  in  life  below  their  own,  your  uncle  would  have  es- 
caped the  fangs  of  my  baneful  coquetry. 

"Oh!  Marian,  my  child,  never  descend  so  low  as  to 
practise  those  arts  which  have  degraded  your  unhappy 
mother.  I  would  impress  on  you,  as  a  memorial  of  my 
parting  affection,  these  simple  truths — that  coquetry  stands 
next  to  the  want  of  chastity  in  the  scale  of  female  vices ; 
it  is  in  fact  a  kind  of  mental  prostitution  ;  it  is  ruinous  to 
all  that  delicacy  of  feeling  which  gives  added  lustre  to  fe- 
male charms  ;  it  is  almost  destructive  to  modesty  itself. 
A  woman  who  has  been  addicted  to  its  practice,  may  strive 


316  PRECAUTION. 

long  and  in  vain  to  regain  that  singleness  of  heart,  which 
can  bind  her  up  so  closely  in  her  husband  and  children  as 
to  make  her  a  good  wife  or  a  mother  ;  and  if  it  should 
have  degenerated  into  habit,  it  may  lead  to  the  awful  re- 
sult of  infidelity  to  her  marriage  vows. 

"  It  is  vain  for  a  coquette  to  pretend  to  religion  ;  its 
practice  involves  hypocrisy,  falsehood,  and  deception — 
everything  that  is  mean — everything  that  is  debasing.  In 
short,  as  it  is  bottomed  on  selfishness  and  pride,  where  it 
has  once  possessed  the  mind,  it  will  only  yield  to  the  truth- 
displaying  banners  of  the  cross.  This,  and  this  only,  can 
remove  the  evil  ;  for  without  it  she,  whom  the  charms  of 
youth  and  beauty  have  enabled  to  act  the  coquette,  will 
descend  into  the  vale  of  life,  altered,  it  is  true,  but  not 
amended.  She  will  find  the  world,  with  its  allurements, 
clinging  around  her  parting  years,  in  vain  regrets  for  days 
that  are  flown,  and  in  mercenary  views  for  her  descendants. 
Heaven  bless  you,  my  children,  console  and  esteem  youi 
inestimable  father  while  he  yet  remains  with  you  ;  and 
place  your  reliance  on  that  Heavenly  Parent  who  will  never 
desert  those  who  seek  him  in  sincerity  and  love.  Your 
dying  mother,  M.  PENDENNYSS." 

This  letter,  evidently  written  under  the  excitement  ol 
deep  remorse,  made  a  great  impression  on  both  her  chil- 
dren. In  Lady  Marian  it  was  pity,  regret,  and  abhorrence 
of  the  fault  which  had  been  the  principal  cause  of  the 
wreck  of  her  mother's  peace  of  mind  ;  but  in  her  brother, 
now  Earl  of  Pendennyss,  these  feelings  were  united  with 
a  jealous  dread  of  his  own  probable  lot  in  the  chances  of 
matrimony. 

His  uncle  had  been  the  supposed  heir  to  a  more  elevated 
title  than  his  own,  but  he  was  now  the  actual  possessor  of 
as  honorable  a  name,  and  of  much  larger  revenues.  The 
great  wealth  of  his  maternal  grandfather,  and  the  consider- 
able estate  of  his  own  father,  were,  or  would  soon  be,  cen- 
tred in  himself  ;  and  if  a  woman  as  amiable,  as  faultless,  as 
affection  had  taught  him  to  believe  his  mother  to  be,  could 
yield  in  her  situation  to  the  lure  of  worldly  honors,  had  he 
not  great  reason  to  dread,  that  a  hand  might  be  bestowed 
at  some  day  upon  himself,  when  the  heart  would  point  out 
some  other  destination,  if  the  real  wishes  of  its  owner  were 
consulted  ? 

Pendennyss  was  modest  by  nature,  and  humble  from 
principle,  though  by  no  means  distrustful ;  yet  the  shock 


PRRCA  UTIOM.  317 

of  discovering  his  mother's  fault,  the  gloom  occasioned  by 
her  death  and  his  father's  declining  health,  sometimes  led 
him  into  a  train  of  reflections  which,  at  others,  he  would 
have  fervently  deprecated. 

A  short  time  after  the  decease  of  the  countess,  Mr. 
Denbigh,  finding  his  constitution  fast  giving  way,  under 
the  wasting  of  a  decline  he  had  been  in  for  a  year,  resolved 
to  finish  his  days  in  the  abode  of  his  Christian  friend, 
Doctor  Ives.  For  several  years  they  had  not  met ;  in- 
creasing duties  and  infirmities  on  both  sides  having  inter- 
rupted their  visits. 

By  easy  stages  he  left  the  residence  of  his  son  in  Wales, 
and  accompanied  by  both  his  children  he  reached  Lumley 
Castle  much  exhausted  ;  here  he  took  a  solemn  and  final 
leave  of  Marian,  unwilling  that  she  should  so  soon  witness 
again  the  death  of  another  parent,  and  dismissing  the  earl's 

equipage  and  attendants  a  short  day's  ride  from  B , 

they  proceeded  alone  to  the  rectory. 

A  letter  had  been  forwarded  acquainting  the  doctor  of 
his  approaching  visit,  wishing  it  to  be  perfectly  private, 
but  nat  alluding  to  its  object,  and  naming  a  day,  a  week 
later  than  the  one  on  which  he  arrived.  This  plan  was 
altered  on  perceiving  the  torch  of  life  more  rapidly  ap- 
proaching the  socket  than  he  had  at  first  supposed.  His 
unexpected  appearance  and  reception  are  known.  Den- 
bigh's death  and  the  departure  of  his  son  followed  ;  Francis 
having  been  Pendennyss's  companion  to  the  tomb  of  his 
ancestors  in  Westmoreland. 

The  earl  had  a  shrinking  delicacy,  under  the  knowledge 
of  his  family  history,  that  made  him  anxious  to  draw  all 
eyes  from  the  contemplation  of  his  mother's  conduct  ;  how 
far  the  knowledge  of  it  had  extended  in  society  he  could 
not  know,  but  he  wished  it  buried  with  her  in  the  tomb. 
The  peculiar  manner  of  his  father's  death  would  attract 
notice,  and  might  recall  attention  to  the  prime  cause  of  his 
disorder ;  as  yet  all  was  veiled,  and  he  wished  the  doctor's 
family  to  let  it  remain  so.  It  was,  however,  impossible 
that  the  death  of  a  man  of  Mr.  Denbigh's  rank  should  be 
unnoticed  in  the  prints,  and  the  care  of  Francis  dictated 
the  simple  truth  without  comments,  as  it  appeared.  As 
regarded  the  Moseleys,  what  was  more  natural  than  that 
the  son  of  Mr.  Denbigh  should  also  be  Mr.  Denbigh? 

In  the  presence  of  the  rector's  family  no  allusions  were 
made  to  their  friends,  and  the  villagers  and  the  neighbor- 
hood spoke  of  them  as  old  and  young  Mr.  Denbigh. 


3i8  PR  EC  A  UTION*. 

The  name  of  Lord  Lumley,  now  earl  of  Pendennyss,  was 
known  to  the  whole  British  nation  ;  but  the  long  retire- 
ment of  his  father  and  mother  had  driven  them  almost 
from  the  recollection  of  their  friends.  Even  Mrs.  Wilson 
supposed  her  favorite  hero  a  Lumley.  Pendennyss  Castle 
had  been  for  centuries  the  proud  residence  of  that  family  ; 
and  the  change  of  name  in  its  possessor  was  forgotten 
with  the  circumstances  that  had  led  to  it. 

When,  therefore,  Emily  met  the  earl  so  unexpectedly 
the  second  time  at  the  rectory,  she,  of  course,  with  all  her 
companions,  spoke  of  him  as  Mr.  Denbigh.  On  that  oc- 
casion Pendennyss  had  called  in  person,  in  expectation  of 
meeting  his  kinsman,  Lord  Bolton  ;  but  finding  him  ab- 
sent, he  could  not  resist  his  desire  to  visit  the  rectory. 
Accordingly,  he  sent  his  carriage  and  servants  on  to  Lon- 
don, leaving  them  at  a  convenient  spot,  and  arrived  on 
foot  at  the  house  of  Doctor  Ives.  From  the  same  motives 
which  had  influenced  him  before — a  wish  to  indulge,  un- 
disturbed by  useless  ceremony,  his  melancholy  reflections, 
he  desired  that  his  name  might  not  be  mentioned. 

This  was  an  easy  task.  Both  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Ives  had 
called  him,  when  a  child,  George  or  Lumley,  and  were  un- 
used to  his  new  appellation  of  Pendennyss  ;  indeed,  it 
rather  recalled  painful  recollections  to  them  all. 

It  may  be  remembered  that  circumstances  removed  the 
necessity  of  any  introduction  to  Mrs.  Wilson  and  her  party  ; 
and  the  difficulty  in  that  instance  was  happily  got  rid  of. 

The  earl  had  often  heard  Emily  Moseley  spoken  of  by 
his  friends,  and  in  their  letters  they  frequently  mentioned 
her  name  as  connected  with  their  pleasures  and  employ- 
ments, and  always  with  an  affection,  Pendennyss  thought, 
exceeding  that  which  they  manifested  for  their  son's  wife  ; 
and  Mrs.  Ives,  the  evening  before,  to  remove  unpleasant 
thoughts,  had  given  him  a  lively  description  of  her  person 
and  character.  The  earl's  curiosity  had  been  a  little  ex- 
cited to  see  this  paragon  of  female  beauty  and  virtue  ; 
and,  unlike  most  curiosity  on  such  subjects,  he  was  agree- 
ably disappointed  by  the  examination.  He  wished  to 
know  more,  and  made  interest  with  the  doctor  to  assist 
him  to  continue  the  incognito  with  which  accident  had 
favored  him. 

The  doctor  objected  on  the  ground  of  principle,  and  the 
earl  desisted  ;  but  the  beauty  of  Emily,  aided  by  her  char, 
acter,  had  made  an  impression  not  to  be  easily  shaken  off, 
and  Pendennyss  returned  to  the  charge. 


PRECA  UT1ON'.  319 

His  former  jealousies  were  awakened  in  proportion  to 
his  admiration  ;  and,  after  some  time,  he  threw  himself  on 
the  mercy  of  the  divine,  by  declaring  his  new  motive,  but 
without  mentioning  his  parents.  The  doctor  pitied  him, 
for  he  scanned  his  feelings  thoroughly,  and  consented  to 
keep  silent,  but  laughingly  declared  it  was  bad  enough  for 
a  divine  to  be  an  accessory  to,  much  less  aiding  in  a  de- 
ception ;  and  that  he  knew  if  Emily  and  Mrs.  Wilson  learnt 
his  imposition,  he  would  lose  ground  in  their  favor  by  the 
discovery. 

"Surely,  George,"  said  the  doctor  with  a  laugh,  "you 
don't  mean  to  marry  the  young  lady  as  Mr.  Denbigh  ?  " 

"Oh,  no  !  it  is  too  soon  to  think  of  marrying  her  at  all," 
replied  the  earl  with  a  smile  ;  "  but,  somehow,  I  should  like 
to  see  how  my  reception  in  the  world  will  be  as  plain 
Mr.  Denbigh,  unprovided  for  and  unknown." 

"No  doubt,  my  lord,"  said  the  rector  archly,  "in  pro. 
portion  to  your  merits,  very  unfavorably  indeed  ;  but  then 
your  humility  will  be  finally  elevated  by  the  occasional 
praises  I  have  heard  Mrs.  Wilson  lavish  on  your  proper 
character  of  late." 

"  I  am  much  indebted  to  her  partiality,"  continued  the 
earl  mournfully  ;  then  throwing  off  his  gloomy  thoughts 
he  added,  "  I  wonder,  my  dear  doctor,  your  goodness  did 
not  set  her  right  in  the  latter  particular." 

"  Why,  she  has  hardly  given  me  an  opportunity  ;  deli- 
cacy and  my  own  feelings  have  kept  me  very  silent  on  the 
subject  of  your  family  to  any  of  that  connection.  They 
think,  I  believe,  I  was  a  rector  in  Wales,  instead  of  your 
father's  chaplain  ;  and  somehow,"  continued  the  doctor, 
smiling  on  his  wife,  "  the  association  with  your  late  parents 
was  so  connected  in  my  mind  with  my  most  romantic  feel- 
ings, that  although  I  have  delighted  in  it,  I  have  seldom 
alluded  to  it  in  conversation  at  all.  Mrs.  Wilson  has 
spoken  of  you  but  twice  in  my  hearing,  and  that  since  she 
has  expected  to  meet  you  ;  your  name  has  doubtless  re- 
called the  remembrance  of  her  husband." 

"  I  have  many,  many  reasons  to  remember  the  general 
with  gratitude,"  cried  the  earl  with  fervor  ;  "but  doctor, 
do  not  forget  my  incognito  :  only  call  me  George  ;  I  ask 
no  more." 

The  plan  of  Pendennyss  was  put  in  execution.  Day 
after  day  he  lingered  in  Northamptonshire,  until  his  princi- 
ples and  character  had  grown  upon  the  esteem  of  the 
Moseleys  in  the  manner  we  have  mentioned.  * 


320  PR  EC  A  UTION-. 

His  frequent  embarrassments  were  from  the  dread  and 
shame  of  a  detection.  With  Sir  Herbert  Nicholson  he  had 
a  narrow  escape,  and  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  and  Lord  Henry 
Stapleton  he  of  course  avoided  :  for  having  gone  so  far, 
he  was  determined  to  persevere  to  the  end.  Egerton  he 
thought  knew  him,  and  he  disliked  his  character  and  man- 
ners. 

When  Chatterton  appeared  most  attentive  to  Emily,  the 
candor  and  good  opinion  of  that  young  nobleman  made 
the  earl  acquainted  with  his  wishes  and  his  situation.  Pen- 
dennyss  was  too  generous  not  to  meet  his  rival  on  fair 
grounds.  His  cousin  and  the  duke  were  requested  to  use 
their  united  influence  secretly  to  obtain  the  desired  station 
for  the  baron.  The  result  is  known, .  and  Pendennyss 
trusted  his  secret  to  Chatterton  ;  he  took  him  to  London, 
gave  him  in  charge  to  Derwent,  and  returned  to  prosecute 
his  own  suit.  His  note  from  Bolton  Castle  was  a  ruse  to 
conceal  his  character,  as  he  knew  the  departure  of  the 
baronet's  family  to  an  hour,  and  had  so  timed  his  visit  to 
the  earl  as  not  to  come  in  collision  with  the  Moseleys. 

"Indeed,  my  lord,"  cried  the  doctor  to  him  one  day, 
"  your  scheme  goes  on  swimmingly,  and  I  am  only  afraid 
when  your  mistress  discovers  the  imposition,  you  will  find 
your  rank  producing  a  different  effect  from  what  you  have 
apprehended." 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

BUT  Dr.  Ives  was  mistaken.  Had  he  seen  the  sparkling 
eyes  and  glowing  cheeks  of  Miss  Moseley,  the  smile  of 
satisfaction  and  happiness  which  played  on  the  usually 
thoughtful  face  of  Mrs.  Wilson,  when  the  earl  handed  them 
into  his  own  carriage,  as  they  left  his  house  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  discovery,  the  doctor  would  have  gladly  ac- 
knowledged the  failure  of  his  prognostics.  In  truth,  there 
was  no  possible  event  that,  under  the  circumstances,  could 
have  given  both  aunt  and  niece  such  heartfelt  pleasure,  as 
the  knowledge  that  Denbigh  and  the  earl  were  the  same 
person. 

Pendennyss  stood  holding  the  door  of  the  carriage  in 
his  hand,  irresolute  how  to  act,  when  Mrs.  Wilson  said — 

"Surely,  my  lord,  you  sup  with  us." 

"A  thousand  thanks,  my  dear  madam,  for  the  privilege," 


PRECAUTION.  321 

cried  the  earl,  as  he  sprang  into  the  coach  :  the  door  was 
closed,  and  they  drove  off. 

"After  the  explanations  of  this  morning,  my  lord,"  said 
Mrs.  Wilson,  willing  to  remove  all  doubts  between  him 
and  Emily,  and  perhaps  anxious  to  satisfy  her  own  curi- 
osity, "  it  will  be  fastidious  to  conceal  our  desire  to  know 
more  of  your  movements.  How  came  your  pocket-book 
in  the  possession  of  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  ? " 

"Mrs.  Fitzgerald!"  cried  Pendennyss,  in  astonishment; 
"  I  lost  the  book  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  Lodge,  and 
supposed  it  had  fallen  into  your  hands,  and  betrayed  my 
disguise  by  Emily's  rejection  of  me,  and  your  own  altered 
eye.  Was  I  mistaken  then  in  both  ? " 

Mrs.  Wilson  now,  for  the  first  time,  explained  their  real 

f rounds  for  refusing  his  offers,  which,  in  the  morning,  she 
ad  loosely  mentioned  as  owing  to  a  misapprehension  of. 
his  just  character,  and  recounted  the  manner  of  the  book 
falling  into  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Fitzgerald. 

The  earl  listened  in  amazement,  and,  after  musing  with 
himself,  exclaimed — 

"  I  remember  taking  it  from  my  pocket  to  show  Colonel 
Egerton  some  singular  plants  I  had  gathered,  and  think  I 
first  missed  it  when  returning  to  the  place  where  I  had 
then  laid  it.  In  some  of  the  side-pockets  were  letters 
from  Marian,  addressed  to  me,  properly  ;  and  I  naturally 
thought  they  had  met  your  eye." 

Mrs.  Wilson  and  Emily  immediately  thought  Egerton 
the  real  villain,  who  had  caused  both  themselves  and  Mrs. 
Fitzgerald  so  much  uneasiness,  and  the  former  mentioned 
her  suspicions  to  the  earl. 

"Nothing  more  probable,  dear  madam,"  cried  he,  "and 
this  explains  to  me  his  startled  looks  when  we  first  met,  and 
his  evident  dislike  to  my  society,  for  he  must  have  seen 
my  person,  though  the  carriage  hid  him  from  my  sight." 

That  Egerton  was  the  wretch,  and  that  through  his 
agency  the  pocket-book  had  been  carried  to  the  cottage, 
they  all  now  agreed,  and  turned  to  more  pleasant  subjects. 

"  Master  ! — here — master  !  "  said  Peter  Johnson,  as  he 
stood  at  the  window  of  Mr.  Benfield's  room,  stirring  a  gruel 
for  the  old  gentleman's  supper,  and  stretching  his  neck 
and  straining  his  eyes  to  distinguish  objects  by  the  light  of 
the  lamps — "  I  do  think  there  is  Mr.  Denbigh,  handing 
Miss  Emmy  from  a  coach  covered  with  gold,  and  two  foot- 
men all  dizzened  with  pride  like." 

The  spoon  fell  from  the  hand  of  Mr.  Benfield.     He  rose 

21 


322  PR  EC  A  UT1ON-. 

briskly  from  his  seat,  and  adjusting  his  dress,  took  the  arm 
of  the  steward  and  proceeded  to  the  drawing-room.  While 
these  several  movements  were  in  operation,  which  con- 
sumed some  time,  the  old  bachelor  relieved  the  tedium  of 
Peter's  impatience  by  the  following  speech  : — 

"  Mr.  Denbigh  ! — what,  back  ?  I  thought  he  never  could 
let  that  rascal  John  shoot  him  and  forsake  Emmy  after 
all  "-  -  here  the  old  gentleman  suddenly  recollected  Den- 
bigh's marriage,  "  but  now,  Peter,  it  can  do  no  good  either. 
I  remember  that  when  my  friend,  the  Earl  of  Gosford  " — 
and  again  he  was  checked  by  the  image  of  the  card-table 
and  the  viscountess  ;  "  but,  Peter,"  he  said  with  great 
warmth,  "  we  can  go  down  and  see  him,  notwithstand- 
ing." 

"  Mr.  Denbigh ! "  exclaimed  Sir  Edward,  in  astonish- 
ment, when  he  saw  the  companion  of  his  sister  and  child 
enter  the  drawing-room,  "you  are  welcome  once  more  to 
your  old  friends  ;  your  sudden  retreat  from  us  gave  us 
much  pain,  but  we  suppose  Lady  Laura  had  too  many  at- 
tractions to  allow  us  to  keep  you  any  longer  in  Norfolk." 

The  good  baronet  sighed  as  he  held  out  his  hand  to  the 
man  whom  he  had  once  hoped  to  receive  as  a  son. 

"  Neither  Lady  Laura  nor  any  other  lady,  my  dear  Sir 
Edward,"  cried  the  earl,  as  he  took  the  baronet's  hand, 
"  drove  me  from  you,  but  the  frowns  of  your  own  fair 
daughter  ;  and  here  she  is,  ready  to  acknowledge  her  of- 
fence, and,  I  hope,  to  atone  for  it." 

John,  who  knew  of  the  refusal  of  his  sister,  and  was  not 
a  little  displeased  with  the  cavalier  treatment  he  had  re- 
ceived at  Denbigh's  hands,  felt  indignant  at  such  improper 
levity  in  a  married  man,  and  approached  with — 

"  Your  servant,  Mr.  Denbigh — I  hope  my  Lady  Laura  is 
well." 

Pendennyss  understood  his  look,  and  replied,  very 
gravely — 

"  Your  servant,  Mr.  John  Moseley — my  Lady  Laura  is, 
or  certainly  ought  to  be,  very  well,  as  she  has  this  moment 
gone  to  a  rout,  accompanied  by  her  husband." 

The  quick  eye  of  John  glanced  from  the  earl  to  his 
aunt,  to  Emily  ;  a  lurking  smile  was  on  all  their  features. 
The  heightened  color  of  his  sister,  the  flashing  eyes  of  the 
young  nobleman,  the  face  of  his  aunt,  all  told  him  that 
something  uncommon  was  about  to  be  explained  ;  and, 
yielding  to  his  feelings,  he  caught  the  hand  which  Penden- 
nyss extended  to  him,  and  cried— 


PRECA  UffOtf.  323 

"Denbigh,  I  see — I  feel — there  is  some  unaccountable 
mistake — we  are  " 

"  Brothers  !  "  said  the  earl,  emphatically.  "  Sir  Edward 
— dear  Lady  Moseley,  I  throw  myself  on  your  mercy.  I 
am  an  impostor.  When  your  hospitality  received  me  into 
your  house,  it  is  true  you  admitted  George  Denbigh  ;  but 
he  is  better  known  as  the  Earl  of  Pendennyss." 

"  The  Earl  of  Pendennyss  !  "  exclaimed  Lady  Moseley, 
in  a  glow  of  delight,  as  she  saw  at  once  through  some 
juvenile  folly  a  deception  which  promised  both  happiness 
and  rank  to  one  of  her  children.  "  Is  it  possible,  my  dear 
Charlotte,  that  this  is  your  unknown  friend  ? " 

"The  very  same,  Anne,"  replied  the  smiling  widow, 
"and  guilty  of  a  folly  that,  at  all  events,  removes  the  dis- 
tance between  us  a  little,  by  showing  that  he  is  subject  to 
the  failings  of  mortality.  But  the  masquerade  is  ended, 
and  I  hope  you  and  Edward  will  not  only  treat  him  as  an 
earl,  but  receive  him  as  a  son." 

"  Most  willingly — most  willingly,"  cried  the  baronet, 
with  great  energy  ;  "  be  he  prince,  peer,  or  beggar,  he  is  the 
preserver  of  my  child,  and  as  such  he  is  always  welcome." 

The  door  now  slowly  opened,  and  the  venerable  bachelor 
appeared  on  its  threshold. 

Pendennyss,  who  had  never  forgotten  the  good  wil  Imani- 
fested  to  him  by  Mr.  Benfield,  met  him  with  a  look  of 
pleasure,  as  he  expressed  his  happiness  at  seeing  him 
again  in  London. 

"  I  never  have  forgotten  your  goodness  in  sending  honest 
Peter  such  a  distance  from  home,  on  the  object  of  his  visit. 
I  now  regret  that  a  feeling  of  shame  occasioned  my  an- 
swering your  kindness  so  laconically."  Turning  to  Mrs. 
Wilson,  he  added,  "for  a  time  I  knew  not  how  to  write  a 
letter  even,  being  afraid  to  sign  my  proper  appellation, 
and  ashamed  to  use  my  adopted." 

"Mr.  Denbigh,  I  am  happy  to  see  you.  I  did  send 
Peter,  it  is  true,  to  London,  on  a  message  to  you — but  it  is 
all  over  now,"  the  old  man  sighed — "  Peter,  however,  es- 
caped the  snares  of  this  wicked  place  ;  and  if  you  are 
happy,  I  am  content.  I  remember  when  the  Earl  of  " — 

"  Pendennyss  !  "  exclaimed  the  other,  "  imposed  on  the 
hospitality  of  a  worthy  man  under  an  assumed  appellation, 
in  order  to  pry  into  the  character  of  a  lovely  female,  who 
was  only  too  good  for  him,  and  who  is  now  willing  to  for- 
get his  follies,  and  make  him  not  only  the  happiest  of  men? 
but  the  nephew  of  Mr.  Benfield." 


324  PRECA  UTION. 

During  this  speech  the  countenance  of  Mr.  Benfield  had 
manifested  evident  emotion.  He  looked  from  one  to 
another,  until  he  saw  Mrs.  Wilson  smiling  near  him.  Point- 
ing to  the  earl  with  his  finger,  he  stood  unable  to  speak,  as 
she  answered  simply — 

"  Lord  Pendennyss." 

"And  Ernmy  dear — will  you — will  you  marry  him?" 
cried  Mr.  Benfield,  suppressing  his  feelings  to  give  utter- 
ance to  his  question. 

Emily  felt  for  her  uncle,  and,  blushing  deeply,  with  great 
frankness  she  put  her  hand  in  that  of  the  earl,  who  pressed 
it  with  rapture  again  and  again  to  his  lips. 

Mr.  Benfield  sank  into  a  chair,  and  with  a  heart  softened 
by  emotion,  burst  into  tears. 

"  Peter,"  he  cried,  struggling  with  his  feelings,  "  I  am 
now  ready  to  depart  in  peace — I  shall  see  my  darling 
Emmy  happy,  and  to  her  care  I  shall  commit  you." 

Emily,  deeply  affected  with  his  love,  threw  herself  into 
his  arms  in  a  torrent  of  tears,  and  was  removed  from  them 
by  Pendennyss,  in  consideration  for  the  feelings  of  both. 

Jane  felt  no  emotions  of  envy  for  her  sister's  happiness  ; 
on  the  contrary,  she  rejoiced  in  common  with  the  rest  of 
their  friends  in  her  brightening  prospects,  and  they  all 
took  their  seats  at  the  supper-table,  as  happy  a  group  as 
was  contained  in  the  wide  circle  of  the  metropolis.  A  few 
more  particulars  served  to  explain  the  mystery  sufficiently, 
until  a  more  fitting  opportunity  made  them  acquainted 
with  the  whole  of  the  earl's  proceedings. 

"My  Lord  Pendennyss,"  said  Sir  Edward,  pouring  out 
a  glass  of  wine,  and  passing  the  bottle  to  his  neighbor  : 
"  I  drink  your  health — and  happiness  to  yourself  and  my 
darling  child." 

The  toast  was  drunk  by  all  the  family,  and  the  earl 
replied  to  the  compliments  with  his  thanks  and  smiles, 
while  Emily  could  only  notice  them  with  her  blushes  and 
tears. 

But  this  was  an  opportunity  not  to  be  lost  by  the  honest 
steward,  who,  from  affection  and  long  services,  had  been 
indulging  in  familiarities  exceeding  any  other  of  his  mas- 
ter's establishment.  He  very  deliberately  helped  himself 
to  a  glass  of  wine,  and  drawing  near  the  seat  of  the  bride- 
elect,  with  an  humble  reverence,  commenced  his  speech  as 
follows  : 

"My  dear  Miss  Emmy  : — Here's  hoping  you'll  live  to  be 
a  comfort  to  your  honored  father,  and  your  honored 


PRECA  UTIOK.  325 

mother,  and  my  dear  honored  master,  and  yourself,  and 
Madam  Wilson."  The  steward  paused  to  clear  his  voice, 
and  profited  by  the  delay  to  cast  his  eye  round  the  table  to 
collect  the  names;  "and  Mr.  John  Moseley,  and  sweet 
Mrs.  Moseley,  and  pretty  Miss  Jane  "  (Peter  had  lived  too 
long  in  the  world  to  compliment  one  handsome  woman  in 
the  presence  of  another,  without  the  qualifying  his  speech 
a  little)  ;  "and  Mr.  Lord  Denbigh — earl-like,  as  they  say 
he  now  is,  and  " — Peter  stopped  a  moment  to  deliberate, 
and  then  making  another  reverence,  he  put  the  glass  to  his 
lips  ;  but  before  he  had  got  half  through  its  contents  recol- 
lected himself,  and  replenishing  it  to  the  brim,  with  a  smile 
acknowledging  his  forgetfulness,  continued,  "and  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Francis  Ives,  and  the  Rev.  Mrs.  Francis  Ives." 

Here  the  unrestrained  laugh  of  John  interrupted  him  ; 
and  considering  with  himself  that  he  had  included  the 
whole  family,  he  finished  his  bumper.  Whether  it  was 
pleasure  at  his  own  eloquence  in  venturing  on  so  long  a 
speech,  or  the  unusual  allowance,  that  affected  the  stew- 
ard, he  was  evidently  much  satisfied  with  himself,  and 
stepped  back  behind  his  master's  chair,  in  great  good 
humor. 

Emily,  as  she  thanked  him,  noticed  a  tear  in  the  eye  of 
the  old  man,  as  he  concluded  his  oration,  that  wrould  have 
excused  a  thousand  breaches  of  fastidious  ceremony.  But 
Pendennyss  rose  from  his  seat,  and  took  him  kindly  by 
the  hand,  and  returned  his  own  thanks  for  his  good  wishes. 

"  I  owe  you  much  good  will,  Mr.  Johnson,  for  your  two 
journeys  in  my  behalf,  and  trust  I  never  shall  forget  the 
manner  in  which  you  executed  your  last  mission  in  par- 
ticular. We  are  friends,  I  trust,  for  life." 

"Thank  you — thank  your  honor's  lordship,"  said  the 
steward,  almost  unable  to  utter  ;  "  I  hope  you  may  live 
long,  to  make  dear  little  Miss  Emmy  as  happy — as  I  know 
she  ought  to  be." 

"But  really,  my  lord,"  cried  John,  observing  that  the 
steward's  affection  for  his  sister  had  affected  her  to  tears, 
"it  was  a  singular  circumstance,  the  meeting  of  the  four 
passengers  of  the  stage  so  soon  at  your  hotel." 

Moseley  explained  his  meaning  to  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany. 

"  Not  so  much  so  as  you  imagine,"  said  the  earl  in  reply  ; 
"yourself  and  Johnson  were  in  quest  of  me.  Lord  Henry 
Stapleton  was  under  an  engagement  to  meet  me  that  even- 
ing at  the  hotel,  as  we  were  both  going  to  his  sister's  wed- 


326  PRECA  UTION. 

ding — I  having  arranged  the  thing  with  him  by  letter  pre« 
viously  ;  and  General  M'Carthy  was  also  in  search  of  me, 
on  business  relating  to  his  niece,  the  Donna  Julia.  He 
had  been  to  Annerdale  House,  and,  through  my  servants, 
heard  I  was  at  a  hotel.  It  was  the  first  interview  between 
us,  and  not  quite  as  amicable  a  one  as  has  since  been  had 
in  Wales.  During  my  service  in  Spain,  I  saw  the  conde, 
but  not  the  general.  The  letter  he  gave  me  was  from  the 
Spanish  ambassador,  claiming  a  right  to  require  Mrs. 
Fitzgerald  from  our  government,  and  deprecating  my 
using  an  influence  to  counteract  his  exertions  " 

"Which  you  refused,"  said  Emily,  eagerly. 

"  Not  refused,"  answered  the  earl,  smiling  at  her  warmth, 
while  he  admired  her  friendly  zeal,  "for  it  was  unneces- 
sary :  there  is  no  such  power  vested  in  the  ministry.  But 
I  explicitly  told  the  general,  I  would  oppose  any  violent 
measures  to  restore  her  to  her  country  and  a  convent. 
From  the  courts,  I  apprehended  nothing  for  my  fair 
friend." 

"  Your  honor — my  lord,"  said  Peter,  who  had  been 
listening  with  great  attention,  "  if  I  may  presume  just  to 
ask  two  questions,  without  offence." 

"  Say  on,  my  good  friend,"  said  Pendennyss,  with  an 
encouraging  smile. 

"  Only,"  continued  the  steward — hemming,  to  give 
proper  utterance  to  his  thoughts— "I  wish  to  know, 
whether  you  stayed  in  that  same  street  after  you  left  the 
hotel — for  Mr.  John  Moseley  and  I  had  a  slight  differ- 
ence in  opinion  about  it." 

The  earl  smiled,  having  caught  the  arch  expression  of 
John,  and  replied — 

"  I  believe  I  owe  you  an  apology,  Moseley,  for  my  cav- 
alier treatment ;  but  guilt  makes  us  all  cowards.  I  found 
you  were  ignorant  of  my  incognito,  and  I  was  equally 
ashamed  to  continue  it,  or  to  become  the  relator  of  my 
own  folly.  Indeed,"  he  continued,  smiling  on  Emily  as 
he  spoke,  "I  thought  your  sister  had  pronounced  the 
opinion  of  all  reflecting  people  on  my  conduct.  I  went 
out  of  town,  Johnson,  at  day-break.  What  is  the  other 
query  ? " 

"Why,  my  lord."  said  Peter,  a  little  disappointed  at 
finding  his  first  surmise  untrue,  "that  outlandish  tongue 
your  honor  used  " 

"  Was  Spanish,"  cried  the  earl. 

''And  not  Greek,  Peter,"  said  his  master,  gravely.     "  I 


PR  EC  A  UTION.  327 

thought,  from  the  words  you  endeavored  to  repeat  to  me, 
that  you  had  made  a  mistake.  You  need  not  be  discon- 
certed, however,  for  I  know  several  members  of  the  par- 
liament of  this  realm  who  could  not  talk  the  Greek  lan- 
guage, that  is,  fluently.  So  it  can  be  no  disgrace  to  a 
serving-man  to  be  ignorant  of  it." 

Somewhat  consoled  to  find  himself  as  well  off  as  the 
representatives  of  his  country,  Peter  resumed  his  station  in 
silence,  when  the  carriages  began  to  announce  the  return 
from  the  opera.  The  earl  took  his  leave,  and  the  party 
retired  to  rest. 

The  thanksgivings  of  Emily  that  night,  ere  she  laid  her 
head  on  her  pillow,  were  the  purest  offering  of  mortal 
innocence.  The  prospect  before  her  was  unsullied  by  a 
cloud,  and  she  poured  out  her  heart  in  the  fullest  confi- 
dence of  pious  love  and  heartfelt  gratitude. 

As  early  on  the  succeeding  morning  as  good-breeding 
would  allow,  and  much  earlier  than  the  hour  sanctioned 
by  fashion,  the  earl  and  Lady  Marian  stopped  in  the  car- 
riage of  the  latter  at  the  door  of  Sir  Edward  Moseley. 
Their  reception  was  the  most  flattering  that  could  be  of- 
fered to  people  of  their  stamp  ;  sincere,  cordial,  and,  with 
a  trifling  exception  in  Lady  Moseley,  unfettered  with  any 
useless  ceremonies. 

Emily  felt  herself  drawn  to  her  new  acquaintance  with 
a  fondness  which  doubtless  grew  out  of  her  situation  with 
her  brother :  which  soon  found  reasons  enough  in  the 
soft,  ladylike,  and  sincere  manners  of  Lady  Marian,  to 
justify  her  attachment  on  her  own  account. 

There  was  a  very  handsome  suite  of  drawing-rooms  in 
Sir  Edward's  house,  and  the  communicating  doors  were 
carelessly  open.  Curiosity  to  view  the  furniture,  or  some 
such  trifling  reasons,  induced  the  earl  to  find  his  way  into 
the  one  adjoining  that  in  which  the  family  were  seated. 
It  was  unquestionably  a  dread  of  being  lost  in  a  strange 
house,  that  induced  him  to  whisper  a  request  to  the  blush- 
ing Emily  to  be  his  companion  ;  and  lastly,  it  must  have 
been  nothing  but  a  knowledge  that  a  vacant  room  was 
easier  viewed  than  one  filled  with  company,  that  preverfted 
any  one  from  following  them.  John  smiled  archly  at 
Grace,  doubtless  in  approbation  of  the  comfortable  time 
his  friend  was  likely  to  enjoy,  in  his  musings  on  the  taste 
of  their  mother.  How  the  door  became  shut  we  have  ever 
been  at  a  loss  to  imagine. 

The  company  without  were  too  good-natured  and  well 


328  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

satisfied  with  each  other  to  miss  the  absentees,  until  the 
figure  of  the  earl  appeared  at  the  reopened  door,  beckon- 
ing, with  a  face  of  rapture,  to  Lady  Moseley  and  Mrs. 
Wilson.  Sir  Edward  next  disappeared,  then  Jane,  then 
Grace — then  Marian  :  until  John  began  to  think  a  tete-a- 
tete  with  Mr.  Benfield  was  to  be  his  morning's  amusement. 

The  lovely  countenance  of  his  wife,  however,  soon  re-, 
lieved  his  ennui,  and  John's  curiosity  was  gratified  by  an  or- 
der to  prepare  for  his  sister's  wedding  the  following  week. 

Emily  might  have  blushed  more  than  common  during 
this  interview,  but  it  is  certain  she  did  not  smile  less  ;  and 
the  earl,  Lady  Marian  assured  Sir  Edward,  was  so  very 
different  a  creature  from  what  he  had  recently  been,  that 
she  could  hardly  think  it  was  the  same  sombre  gentleman 
with  whom  she  had  passed  the  last  few  months  in  Wales 
and  Westmoreland. 

A  messenger  was  despatched  for  Dr.  Ives  and  their 
friends  at  B ,  to  be  witnesses  to  the  approching  nup- 
tials ;  and  Lady  Moseley  at  length  found  an  opportunity 
of  indulging  her  taste  for  splendor  on  this  joyful  occasion. 

Money  was  no  consideration  ;  and  Mr.  Benfield  abso- 
lutely pined  at  the  thought  that  the  great  wealth  of  the 
earl  put  it  out  of  his  power  to  Contribute  in  any  manner 
to  the  comfort  of  his  Emmy.  However,  a  fifteenth  codicil 
was  framed  by  the  ingenuity  of  Peter  and  his  master,  and 
if  it  did  not  contain  the  name  of  George  Denbigh,  it  did 
that  of  his  expected  second  son,  Roderick  Benfield  Den- 
bigh, to  the  qualifying  circumstance  of  twenty  thousand 
pounds  as  a  bribe  for  the  name. 

"  And  a  very  pretty  child,  I  dare  say,  it  will  be,"  said  the 
steward,  as  he  placed  the  paper  in  its  repository.  "  I  don't 
know  that  I  ever  saw,  your  honor,  a  couple  that  I  thought 
would  make  a  handsomer  pair  like,  except" — Peter's  mind 
dwelt  on  his  own  youthful  form,  coupled  with  the  smiling 
graces  of  Patty  Steele. 

"  Yes  !  they  are  as  handsome  as  they  are  good  !  "  replied 
his  master.  "  I  remember  now  when  our  speaker  took  his 
third  wife,  the  world  said  that  they  were  as  pretty  a  couple 
as  there  was  at  court.  But  my  Emmy  and  the  earl  will  be 
a  much  finer  pair.  Oh  !  Peter  Johnson  ;  they  are  young, 
and  rich,  and  beloved  ;  but,  after  all,  it  avails  but  little  if 
they  be  not  good." 

"  Good  !  "  cried  the  steward  in  astonishment  ;  "  they  are 
as  good  as  angels." 

The  master's  ideas  of  human  excellence  had  suffered  a 


PR  EC  A  UTION.  329 

heavy  blow  in  the  view  of  his  viscountess,  but  he  answered 
mildly, 

"As  good  as  mankind  can  well  be." 


CHAPTER   XLVII. 

THE  warm  weather  had  now  commenced,  and  Sir  Ed- 
ward, unwilling  to  be  shut  up  in  London  at  a  time  the  ap- 
pearance of  vegetation  gave  the  country  a  new  interest, 
and  accustomed  for  many  years  of  his  life  to  devote  an 
hour  in  his  garden  each  morn,  had  taken  a  little  ready-fur- 
nished cottage  a  short  ride  from  his  residence,  with  the 
intention  of  frequenting  it  until  after  the  birthday.  Thith- 
er then  Pendennyss  took  his  bride  from  the  altar,  and  a 
few  days  were  passed  by  the  newly  married  pair  in  this 
little  asylum. 

Doctor  Ives,  with  Francis,  Clara,  and  their  mother,  had 
obeyed  the  summons  with  an  alacrity  in  proportion  to  the 
joy  they  felt  on  receiving  it,  and  the  former  had  the  hap- 
piness of  officiating  on  the  occasion.  It  would  have  been 
easy  for  the  wealth  of  the  earl  to  procure  a  license  to  en- 
able them  to  marry  in  the  drawing-room  ;  the  permission 
was  obtained,  but  neither  Emily  nor  himself  felt  a  wish  to 
utter  their  vows  in  any  other  spot  than  at  the  altar,  and  in 
the  house  of  their  Maker. 

If  there  was  a  single  heart  that  felt  the  least  emotion  of 
regret  or  uneasiness,  it  was  Lady  Moseley,  who  little  rel- 
ished the  retirement  of  the  cottage  on  so  joyful  an  occa- 
sion ;  but  Pendennyss  silenced  her  objections  by  good- 
humoredly  replying — 

"  The  fates  have  been  so  kind  to  me,  in  giving  me  cas- 
tles and  seats,  you  ought  to  allow  me,  my  dear  Lady  Mose- 
ley, the  only  opportunity  I  shall  probably  ever  have  of 
enjoying  love  in  a  cottage." 

A  few  days,  however,  removed  the  uneasiness  of  the 
good  matron,  who  had  the  felicity  within  the  week  of  see- 
ing her  daughter  initiated  mistress  of  Annerdale  House. 

The  morning  of  their  return  to  this  noble  mansion  the 
earl  presented  himself  in  St.  James's  Square,  with  the  intel- 
ligence of  their  arrival,  and  smiling  as  he  bowed  to  Mrs. 
Wilson,  he  continued — 

"And  to  escort   you,  dear  madam,  to  your   new  abode." 

Mrs,  Wilson  started  with  surprise,  and  with~a  heart  beat- 


33° 


PRECAUTION. 


ing  quick  with  emotion,  she  required  an  explanation  of  his 
words. 

"Surely,  dearest  Mrs.  Wilson — more  than  aunt — my 
mother — you  cannot  mean,  after  having  trained  my  Emily 
through  infancy  to  maturity  in  the  paths  of  duty,  to  desert 
her  in  the  moment  of  her  greatest  trial.  I  am  the  pupil  of 
your  husband,"  he  continued,  taking  her  hands  in  his  own 
with  reverence  and  affection  ;  "  we  are  the  children  of  your 
joint  care,  and  one  home,  as  there  is  but  one  heart,  must 
in  future  contain  us." 

Mrs.  Wilson  had  wished  for,  but  hardly  dared  to  expect 
this  invitation.  It  was  now  urged  from  the  right  quarter, 
and  in  a  manner  that  was  as  sincere  as  it  was  gratifying. 
Unable  to  conceal  her  tears,  the  good  widow  pressed  the 
hand  of  Pendennyss  to  her  lips  as  she  murmured  out  her 
thanks.  Sir  Edward  was  prepared  also  to  lose  his  sister  ; 
but  unwilling  to  relinquish  the  pleasure  of  her  society,  he 
urged  her  making  a  common  residence  between  the  two 
families. 

"Pendennyss  has  spoken  the  truth,  my  dear  brother," 
cried  she,  recovering  her  voice  ;  "  Emily  is  the  child  of  my 
care  and  my  love — the  two  beings  I  love  best  in  this  world 
are  now  united — but,"  she  added,  pressing  Lady  Moseley 
to  her  bosom,  "  my  heart  is  large  enough  for  you  all ;  you 
are  of  my  blood,  and  my  gratitude  for  your  affection  is 
boundless.  There  shall  be  but  one  large  family  of  us  ;  and 
although  our  duties  may  separate  us  for  a  time,  we  will,  I 
trust,  ever  meet  in  tenderness  and  love,  though  with  George 
and  Emily  I  will  take  up  my  abode." 

"  I  hope  your  house  in  Northamptonshire  is  not  to  be 
vacant  always,"  said  Lady  Moseley  to  the  earl,  anxiously. 

"  I  have  no  house  there,  my  dear  madam,"  he  replied  ; 
"when  I  thought  myself  about  to  succeed  in  my  suit  be- 
fore, I  directed  a  lawyer  at  Bath,  where  Sir  William  Harris 
resided  most  of  his  time,  to  endeavor  to  purchase  the  dean- 
ery, whenever  a  good  opportunity  offered  ;  in  my  discom- 
fiture," he  added,  smiling,  "I  forgot  to  countermand  the 
order,  and  he  purchased  it  immediately  on  its  being  ad- 
vertised. For  a  short  time  it  was  an  encumbrance  to  me, 
but  it  is  now  applied  to  its  original  purpose.  It  is  the 
sole  property  of  the  Countess  of  Pendennyss,  and  I  doubt 
not  you  will  see  it  often  and  agreeably  tenanted." 

This  intelligence  gave  great  satisfaction  to  his  friends, 
and  the  expected  summer  restored  to  even  Jane  a  gleam  of 
her  former  pleasure. 


PRECA  UTJOi\T.  331 

If  there  be  bliss  in  this  life,  approaching  in  any  degree 
to  the  happiness  of  the  blessed,  it  is  the  fruition  of  long 
and  ardent  love,  where  youth,  innocence,  piety,  and  family 
concord,  smile  upon  the  union.  And  all  these  were  united 
in  the  case  of  the  newly  married  pair  ;  but  happiness  in 
this  world  cannot,  or  does  not,  in  any  situation,  exist  with- 
out alloy. 

The  peace  of  mind  and  fortitude  of  Emily  were  fated  to 
receive  a  blow,  as  unlooked  for  to  herself  as  it  was  unex- 
pected to  the  world.  Bonaparte  appeared  in  France,  and 
Europe  became  in  motion. 

From  the  moment  the  earl  heard  the  intelligence,  his 
own  course  was  decided.  His  regiment  was  the  pride  of 
the  army,  and  that  it  would  be  ordered  to  join  the  duke  he 
did  not  entertain  a  doubt. 

Emily  was,  therefore,  in  some  little  measure  prepared 
for  the  blow.  It  is  at  such  moments  as  our  own  acts,  or 
events  affecting  us,  get  to  be  without  our  control,  that 
faith  in  the  justice  and  benevolence  of  God  is  the  most 
serviceable  to  the  Christian.  When  others  spend  their 
time  in  useless  regrets,  he  is  piously  resigned  ;  it  even  so 
happens,  that  when  others  mourn  he  can  rejoice. 

The  sound  of  the  bugle,  wildly  winding  its  notes,  broke 
on  the  stillness  of  the  morning  in  the  little  village  in  which 
was  situated  the  cottage  tenanted  by  Sir  Edward  Moseley. 
Almost  concealed  by  the  shrubbery  which  surrounded  its 
piazza,  stood  the  forms  of  the  Countess  of  Pendennyss  and 
her  sister  Lady  Marian,  watching  eagerly  the  appearance 
of  those  whose  approach  was  thus  announced. 

The  carriage  of  the  ladies,  with  its  idle  attendants,  was 
in  waiting  at  a  short  distance  ;  and  the  pale  face  but  com- 
posed resignation  of  its  mistress,  indicated  a  struggle  be- 
tween conflicting  duties. 

File  after  file  of  heavy  horse  passed  them  in  military 
pomp,  and  the  wistful  gaze  of  the  two  females  had  scanned 
them  in  vain  for  the  well-known,  much-beloved  counte- 
nance of  the  leader.  At  length  a  single  horseman  ap- 
proached them,  riding  deliberately  and  musing ;  their 
forms  met  his  eye,  and  in  an  instant  Emily  was  pressed  to 
the  bosom  of  her  husband. 

"  It  is  the  doom  of  a  soldier,"  said  the  earl,  dashing  a 
tear  from  his  eye  ;  "  I  had  hoped  that  the  peace  of  the 
world  would  not  again  be  assailed  for  years,  and  that  ambi- 
tion and  jealousy  would  yield  a  respite  to  our  bloody  pro- 
fession ;  but  cheer  up,  my  love — hope  for  the  best — your 


332  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

trust  is  not  in  the  things  of  this  life,  and  your  happiness  is 
without  the  power  of  man." 

"Ah!  Pendennyss — my  husband,"  sobbed  Emily,  sink 
ing  on  his  bosom,  "  take  with  you  my  prayers — my  love — • 
everything  that  can  console  you — everything  that  may 
profit  you.  I  will  not  tell  you  to  be  careful  of  your  life  ; 
your  duty  teaches  you  that.  As  a  soldier,  expose  it ;  as  a 
husband,  guard  it ;  and  return  to  me  as  you  leave  me,  a 
lover,  the  dearest  of  men,  and  a  Christian." 

Unwilling  to  prolong  the  pain  of  parting,  the  earl  gave 
his  wife  a  last  embrace,  held  Marian  affectionately  to  his 
bosom,  and  mounting  his  horse,  was  out  of  sight  in  an 
instant. 

Within  a  few  days  of  the  departure  of  Pendennyss,  Chat- 
terton  was  surprised  with  the  entrance  of  his  mother  and 
Catherine.  His  reception  of  them  was  that  of  a  respect- 
ful child,  and  his  wife  exerted  herself  to  be  kind  to  con- 
nections she  could  not  love,  in  order  to  give  pleasure  to  a 
husband  she  adored.  Their  tale  was  soon  told.  Lord  and 
Lady  Herrifield  were  separated  ;  and  the  do\vager,  alive  to 
the  dangers  of  a  young  woman  in  Catherine's  situation, 
and  without  a  single  principle  on  which  to  rest  the  assur- 
ance of  her  blameless  conduct  in  future,  had  brought  her 
to  England  in  order  to  keep  off  disgrace,  by  residing  with 
her  child  herself. 

There  was  nothing  in  his  wife  to  answer  the  expectations 
with  which  Lord  Herriefield  married.  She  had  beauty,  but 
with  that  he  was  already  sated  ;  her  simplicity,  which,  by 
having  her  attention  drawn  elsewrhere,  had  at  first  charmed 
him,  was  succeeded  by  the  knowing  conduct  of  a  deter- 
mined follower  of  the  fashions,  and  a  decided  woman  of 
the  world. 

It  had  never  struck  the  viscount  as  impossible  that  an 
artless  and  innocent  girl  would  fall  in  love  with  his  faded 
and  bilious  face,  but  the  moment  Catherine  betrayed  the 
arts  of  a  manager,  he  saw  at  once  the  artifice  that  had  been 
practised  ;  of  course  he  ceased  to  love  her. 

Men  are  flattered  for  a  season  with  notice  that  has  been 
unsought,  but  it  never  fails  to  injure  the  woman  who  prac- 
tises it,  in  the  opinion  of  the  other  sex,  in  time.  Without 
a  single  feeling  in  common,  without  a  regard  to  anything 
but  self,  in  either  husband  or  wife,  it  could  not  but  hap- 
pen that  a  separation  must  follow,  or  their  days  be  spent 
in  wrangling  and  misery.  Catherine  willingly  left  her 
husband ;  her  husband  more  willingly  got  rid  of  her. 


PR  EC  A  [7TSOM  333 

During  all  these  movements  the  dowager  had  a  difficult 
game  to  play.  It  was  unbecoming  her  to  encourage  the 
strife,  and  it  was  against  her  wishes  to  suppress  it  ;  she 
therefore  moralized  with  the  peer  and  frowned  upon  her 
daughter. 

The  viscount  listened  to  her  truisms  with  the  attention 
of  a  boy  who  is  told  by  a  drunken  father  how  wicked  it  is 
to  love  liquor,  and  heeded  them  about  as  much  ;  while 
Kate,  mistress  at  all  events  of  two  thousand  a  year,  minded 
her  mother's  frowns  as  little  as  she  regarded  her  smiles ; 
both  were  indifferent  to  her. 

A  few  days  after  the  ladies  left  Lisbon,  the  viscount 
proceeded  to  Italy  in  company  with  the  repudiated  wife  of 
a  British  naval  officer ;  and  if  Kate  was  not  guilty  of  an 
offence  of  equal  magnitude,  it  was  more  owing  to  her 
mother's  present  vigilance  than  to  her  previous  care. 

The  presence  of  Mrs.  Wilson  was  a  great  source  of  con- 
solation to  Emily  in  the  absence  of  her  husband  ;  and  as 
their  longer  abode  in  town  was  useless,  the  countess  de- 
clining to  be  presented  without  the  earl,  the  whole  family 
decided  upon  a  return  into  Northamptonshire. 

The  deanery  had  been  furnished  by  order  of  Penden- 
nyss  immediately  on  his  marriage  ;  and  its  mistress  has- 
tened to  take  possession  of  her  new  dwelling.  The  amuse- 
ment and  occupation  of  this  movement,  the  planning  of 
little  improvements,  her  various  duties  under  her  increased 
responsibilities,  kept  Emily  from  dwelling  unduly  upon 
the  danger  of  her  husband.  She  sought  out  among  the 
first  objects  of  her  bounty  the  venerable  peasant  whose 
loss  had  been  formerly  supplied  by  Pendennysson  his  first 

visit  to  B ,  after  the  death  of  his  father.  There  might 

not  have  been  the  usual  discrimination  and  temporal  use- 
fulness in  this  instance  which  generally  accompanied  her 
benevolent  acts  ;  but  it  was  associated  with  the  image  of 
her  husband,  and  it  could  excite  no  surprise  in  Mrs.  Wil- 
son, although  it  did  in  Marian,  to  see  her  sister  driving  two 
or  three  times  a  week  to  relieve  the  necessities  of  a  man 
who  appeared  actually  to  be  in  want  of  nothing. 

Sir  Edward  was  again  among  those  he  loved,  and  his 
hospitable  board  was  once  more  surrounded  with  the  faces 
of  his  friends  and  neighbors.  The  good-natured  Mr. 
Haughton  was  always  a  welcome  guest  at  the  hall,  and 
met,  soon  after  their  return,  the  collected  family  of  the 
baronet,  at  a  dinner  given  by  the  latter  to  his  children  and 
one  or  two  of  his  most  intimate  neighbors. 


334  PRECA  UTION. 

"  My  Lady  Pendennyss,"  cried  Mr.  Haughton,  in  the 
course  of  the  afternoon,  "  I  have  news  from  the  earl,  which 
I  know  it  will  do  your  heart  good  to  hear." 

Emily  smiled  at  the  prospect  of  hearing  in  any  manner 
of  her  husband,  although  she  internally  questioned  the 
probability  of  Mr.  Haughton's  knowing  anything  of  his 
movements,  of  which  her  daily  letters  did  not  apprise  her. 

"Will  you  favor  me  with  the  particulars  of  your  intelli- 
gence, sir  ?"  said  the  countess. 

"  He  has  arrived  safe  with  his  regiment  near  Brussels  ;  I 
heard  it  from  a  neighbor's  son  who  saw  him  enter  the 
house  occupied  by  Wellington,  while  he  was  standing  in 
the  crowd  without,  waiting  to  get  a  peep  at  the  duke." 

"Oh!"  said  Mrs.  Wilson  with  a  laugh,  "Emily  knew 
that  ten  days  ago.  Could  your  friend  tell  us  anything  -of 
Bonaparte  ?  We  are  much  interested  in  his  movements 
just  now." 

Mr.  Haughton,  a  good  deal  mortified  to  find  his  news 
stale,  mused  a  moment,  as  if  in  doubt  to  proceed  or  not  ; 
but  liking  of  all  things  to  act  the  part  of  a  newspaper,  he 
continued — 

"  Nothing  more  than  you  see  in  the  prints.  But  I  sup- 
pose your  ladyship  has  heard  about  Captain  Jarvis,  too  ?." 

"Why,  no,"  said  Emily,  laughing;  "the  movements  of 
Captain  Jarvis  are  not  quite  as  interesting  to  me  as  those 
of  Lord  Pendennyss — has  the  Duke  made  him  an  aid-de- 
camp ?" 

"  Oh  !  no,"  cried  the  other,  exulting  at  his  having 
something  new  ;  "  as  soon  as  he  heard  of  the  return  of 
Boney,  he  threw  up  his  commission  and  got  married." 

"  Married  !  "  cried  John  ;  "  not  to  Miss  Harris,  surely." 

"  No  ;  to  a  silly  girl  he  met  in  Cornwall,  who  was  fool 
enough  to  be  caught  with  his  gold  lace.  He  married  one 
day,  and  the  next  told  his  disconsolate  wife  and  panic- 
stricken  mother  that  the  honor  of  the  Jarvises  must  sleep 
until  the  supporters  of  the  name  became  sufficiently  nu- 
merous to  risk  them  in  the  field  of  battle." 

"  And  how  did  Mrs.  Jarvis  and  Sir  Timo's  lady  relish 
the  news?"  inquired  John,  expecting  something  ridicu- 
lous. 

"Not  at  all,"  rejoined  Mr.  Haughton;  "the  former 
sobbed,  and  said  she  had  only  married  him  for  his  bravery 
and  red  coat,  and  the  lady  exclaimed  against  the  destruc- 
tion of  his  budding  honors." 

"  How  did  it  terminate  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Wilson. 


PRECA  UTION.  335 

"  Why,  it  seems  while  they  were  quarrelling  about  it,  the 
war-office  cut  the  matter  short  by  accepting  his  resigna- 
tion. I  suppose  the  commander-in-chief  had  learned  his 
character  ;  but  the  matter  was  warmly  contested— they 
even  drove  the  captain  to  a  declaration  of  his  principles." 

"  And  what  kind  of  ones  might  they  have  been,  Haugh- 
ton  ?  "  said  Sir  Edward,  dryly. 

"  Republican." 

"  Republican  !  "  exclaimed  two  or  three,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  liberty  and  equality,  he  contended,  were  his  idols, 
and  he  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  fight  against  Bona- 
parte." 

"A  somewhat  singular  conclusion,"  said  Mr.  Benfield, 
musing.  "  I  remember  when  I  sat  in  the  House,  there 
was  a  party  who  were  fond  of  the  cry  of  this  said  liberty  ; 
but  when  they  got  the  power  they  did  not  seem  to  me  to 
suffer  people  to  go  more  at  large  than  they  went  before  ; 
but  I  suppose  they  were  diffident  of  telling  the  world  their 
minds  after  they  were  put  in  such  responsible  stations,  for 
fear  of  the  effect  of  example." 

"  Most  people  like  liberty  as  servants  but  not  as  masters, 
uncle,"  cried  John,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Captain  Jarvis,  it  seems,  liked  it  as  a  preservative 
against  danger,"  continued  Mr.  Haughton.  "  To  avoid 
ridicule  in  his  new  neighborhood,  he  has  consented  to  his 
father's  wishes,  and  turned  merchant  in  the  city  again." 

"  Where  I  sincerely  hope  he  will  remain,"  cried  John, 
who,  since  the  accident  of  the  arbor,  could  not  tolerate 
the  unfortunate  youth. 

"Amen  !  "  said  Emily,  in  an  undertone,  heard  only  by 
her  brother. 

"  But  Sir  Timo — what  has  become  of  Sir  Timo — the 
good,  honest  merchant  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  He  has  dropt  the  title,  insists  on  being  called  plain 
Mr.  Jarvis,  and  lives  entirely  in  Cornwall.  His  hopeful 
son-in-law  has  gone  with  his  regiment  to  Flanders  ;  and 
Lady  Egerton,  being  unable  to  live  without  her  father's 
assistance,  is  obliged  to  hide  her  consequence  in  the  west 
also." 

The  subject  became  now  disagreeable  to  Lady  Moseley, 
and  it  was  changed.  Such  conversations  made  Jane  more 
reserved  and  dissatisfied  than  ever.  She  had  no  one  re- 
spectable excuse  to  offer  for  her  partiality  to  her  former 
lover,  and  when  her  conscience  told  her  the  mortifying 
fact,  was  apt  to  think  that  others  remembered  it  too. 


336  PR  EC  A  UT1ON-.      . 

The  letters  from  the  continent  now  teemed  with  prepa- 
rations for  the  approaching  contest  ;  and  the  apprehen- 
sions of  our  heroine  and  her  friends  increased,  in  propor- 
tion to  the  nearness  of  the  struggle,  on  which  hung  not 
only  the  fates  of  thousands  of  individuals,  but  of  adverse 
princes  and  mighty  empires.  In  this  confusion  of  inter- 
ests, and  of  jarring  of  passions,  there  were  offered  prayers 
almost  hourly  for  the  safety  of  Pendennyss,  which  were  as 
pure  and  ardent  as  the  love  which  prompted  them. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

NAPOLEON  had  commenced  those  daring  and  rapid  move- 
ments, which  for  a  time  threw  the  peace  of  the  world  into 
the  scale  of  fortune,  and  which  nothing  but  the  interposi- 
tion of  a  ruling  Providence  could  avert  from  their  threat- 
ened success.  As  the th  dragoons  wheeled  into  a  field 

already  deluged  with  English  blood,  on  the  heights  of 
Quatre  Bras,  the  eye  of  its  gallant  colonel  saw  a  friendly 
battalion  falling  beneath  the  sabres  of  the  enemy's  cuiras- 
siers. The  word  was  passed,  the  column  opens,  the  sounds 
of  the  quivering  bugle  were  heard  for  a  moment  above  the 
roar  of  the  cannon  and  the  shouts  of  the  combatants ;  the 
charge,  sweeping  like  a  whirlwind,  fell  heavily  on  those 
treacherous  Frenchmen,  who  to-day  had  sworn  fidelity  to 
Louis,  and  to-morrow  intended  lifting  their  hands  in  alle- 
giance to  his  rival. 

"  Spare  my  life  in  mercy,"  cried  an  officer,  already  dread- 
fully wounded,  who  stood  shrinking  from  the  impending 
blow  of  an  enraged  Frenchman.  An  English  dragoon 
dashed  at  the  cuirassier,  and  witli  one  blow  severed  his 
arm  from  his  body. 

11  Thank  God,"  sighed  the  wounded  officer,  sinking  be- 
neath the  horse's  feet. 

His  rescuer  threw  himself  from  the  saddle,  and  raising 
the  fallen  man  inquired  into  his  wounds.  It  was  Penden- 
nyss, and  it  was  Egerton.  The  wounded  man  groaned 
aloud,  as  he  saw  the  face  of  him  who  had  averted  the  fatal 
blow  ;  but  it  was  not  the  hour  for  explanations  or  confes- 
sions, other  than  those  with  which  the  dying  soldiers  en- 
deavored to  make  their  tardy  peace  with  their  God. 

Sir  Henry  was  given  in  charge  to  two  slightly  wounded 
British  soldiers,  and  the  earl  remounted  :  the  scattered 


PR  EC  A  UTION.  337 

troops  were  rallied  at  the  sound  of  the  trumpet,  and  again 
and  again,  led  by  their  dauntless  colonel,  were  seen  in  the 
thickest  of  the  fray,  with  sabres  drenched  in  blood,  and 
voices  hoarse  with  the  shouts  of  victory. 

The  period  between  the  battles  of  Quatre  Bras  and 
Waterloo  was  a  trying  one  to  the  discipline  and  courage 
of  the  British  army.  The  discomfited  Prussians  on  their 
flank  had  been  routed  and  compelled  to  retire,  and  in  their 
front  was  an  enemy,  brave,  skilful,  and  victorious,  led  by 
the  greatest  captain  of  the  age.  The  prudent  commander 
of  the  English  forces  fell  back  with  dignity  and  reluctance 
to  the  field  of  Waterloo  ;  here  the  mighty  struggle  was  to 
terminate,  and  the  eye  of  every  experienced  soldier  looked 
on  those  eminences  as  on  the  future  graves  for  thou- 
sands. 

During  this  solemn  interval  of  comparative  inactivity 
the  mind  of  Pendennyss  dwelt  on  the  affection,  the  inno- 
cence, the  beauty  and  worth  of  his  Emily,  until  the  curd- 
ling blood,  as  he  thought  on  her  lot  should  his  life  be  the 
purchase  of  the  coming  victory,  warned  him  to  quit  the 
gloomy  subject,  for  the  consolations  of  that  religion  which 
only  could  yield  him  the  solace  his  wounded  feelings  re- 
quired. In  his  former  campaigns  the  earl  had  been  sensi- 
ble of  the  mighty  changes  of  death,  and  had  ever  kept  in 
view  the  preparations  necessary  to  meet  it  with  hope  and 
joy;  but  the  world  clung  around  him  now,  in  the  best  af- 
fections of  his  nature,  and  it  was  only  as  he  could  picture 
the  happy  reunion  with  his  Emily  in  a  future  life,  that  he 
could  look  on  a  separation  in  this  without  despair. 

The  vicinity  of  the  enemy  admitted  of  no  relaxation  in 
the  strictest  watchfulness  in  the  British  lines :  and  the 
comfortless  night  of  the  seventeenth  was  passed  by  the 
earl,  and  his  lieutenant-colonel,  George  Denbigh,  on 
the  same  cloak,  and  under  the  open  canopy  of  heaven. 

As  the  opening  cannon  of  the  enemy  gave  the  signal  for 
the  commencing  conflict,  Pendennyss  mounted  his  charger 
with  a  last  thought  on  his  distant  wife.  With  a  mighty 
struggle  he  tore  her  as  it  were  from  his  bosom,  and  gave 
the  remainder  of  the  day  to  duty. 

Who  has  not  heard  of  the  events  of  that  fearful  hour,  on 
which  the  fate  of  Europe  hung  as  it  were  suspended  in  the 
scale  ?  On  one  side  supported  by  the  efforts  of  desperate 
resolution,  guided  by  the  most  consummate  art  ;  and  on 
the  other  defended  by  a  discipline  and  enduring  courage 
almost  without  a  parallel. 


338  PRECA  UTION. 

The  indefatigable  Blucher  arrived,  and  the  star  of  Na* 
poleon  sank. 

Pendennyss  threw  himself  from  his  horse,  on  the  night 
of  the  eighteenth  of  June,  as  he  gave  way  by  orders,  in 
the  pursuit,  to  the  fresher  battalions  of  the  Prussians,  with 
the  languor  that  follows  unusual  excitement,  and  mental 
thanksgivings  that  this  bloody  work  was  at  length  ended. 
The  image  of  his  Emily  again  broke  over  the  sterner  feel- 
ings of  the  battle,  like  the  first  glimmerings  of  light  which 
succeed  the  awful  darkness  of  the  eclipse  of  the  sun  :  and 
he  again  breathed  freely,  in  the  consciousness  of  the  hap- 
piness which  would  await  his  speedy  return. 

"  I  am  sent  for  the  colonel  of  the th  dragoons,"  said 

a  courier  in  broken  English  to  a  soldier,  near  where  the 
earl  lay  on  the  ground,  waiting  the  preparations  of  his 
attendants;  "have  I  found  the  right  regiment,  my  friend?" 

"  To  be  sure  you  have,"  answered  the  man,  without  look- 
ing up  from  his  toil  on  his  favorite  animal,  "you  might 
have  tracked  us  by  the  dead  Frenchmen,  I  should  think. 
So  you  want  my  lord,  my  lad,  do  you  ?  do  we  move  again 
to-night  ?"  suspending  his  labor  for  a  moment  in  expecta- 
tion of  a  reply. 

"Not  to  my  knowledge,"  rejoined  the  courier;  "my 
message  is  to  your  colonel,  from  a  dying  man.  Will  you 
point  out  his  station  ?" 

The  soldier  complied,  the  message  was  soon  delivered, 
and  Pendennyss  prepared  to  obey  its  summons  immedi- 
ately. Preceded  by  the  messenger  as  a  guide,  and  followed 
by  Harmer,  the  earl  retraced  his  steps  over  that  ground 
on  which  he  had  but  a  few  hours  before  been  engaged  in 
the  deadly  strife  of  man  to  man,  hand  to  hand. 

How  different  is  the  contemplation  of  a  field  of  battle 
during  and  after  the  conflict !  The  excitement,  suspended 
success,  shouts,  uproar,  and  confusion  of  the  former,  pre- 
vent any  contemplation  of  the  nicer  parts  of  this  confused 
mass  of  movements,  charges,  and  retreats  ;  or  if  a  brilliant 
advance  is  made,  a  masterly  retreat  effected,  the  imagina- 
tion is  chained  by  the  splendor  and  glory  of  the  act,  with- 
out resting  for  a  moment  on  the  sacrifice  of  individual 
happiness  with  which  it  is  purchased.  A  battle-ground 
from  which  the  whirlwind  of  the  combat  has  passed,  pre- 
sents a  different  sight  ;  it  offers  the  very  consummation  of 
human  misery. 

There  may  occasionally  be  an  individual,  who  from  sta- 
tion, distempered  mind,  or  the  encouragement  of  chimer- 


PR  EC  A  UTIOM  33$ 

ical  ideas  of  glory,  quits  the  theatre  of  life  with  at  least 
the  appearance  of  pleasure  in  his  triumphs.  If  such  there 
be  in  reality,  if  this  rapture  of  departing  glory  be  anything 
more  than  the  deception  of  a  distempered  excitement,  the 
subject  of  its  exhibition  is  to  be  greatly  pitied.  To  the 
Christian,  dying  in  peace  with  both  God  and  man,  can  it 
alone  be  ceded  in  the  eye  of  reason,  to  pour  out  his  ex- 
istence with  a  smile  on  his  quivering  lip. 

And  the  warrior,  who  falls  in  the  very  arms  of  victory, 
after  passing  a  life  devoted  to  the  world  ;  even  if  he  sees 
kingdoms  hang  suspended  on  his  success,  may  smile  in- 
deed, may  utter  sentiments  full  of  loyalty  and  zeal,  may  be 
the  admiration  of  the  world,  and  what  is  his  reward !  a 
deathless  name,  and  an  existence  of  misery  which  knows 
no  termination. 

Christianity  alone  can  make  us  good  soldiers  in  any 
cause,  for  he  who  knows  how  to  live,  is  always  the  least 
afraid  to  die. 

Pendennyss  and  his  companions  pushed  their  way  over 
the  ground  occupied  before  the  battle  by  the  enemy  ;  de- 
scended into  and  through  that  little  valley,  in  which  yet 
lay,  in  undistinguished  confusion,  masses  of  the  dead  and 
dying  of  either  side  ;  and  again  over  the  ridge,  on  which 
could  be  marked  the  situation  of  those  gallant  squares 
which  had  so  long  resisted  the  efforts  of  the  horse  and  ar- 
tillery, by  the  groups  of  bodies,  fallen  where  they  had 
bravely  stood,  until  even  the  callous  Harmer  sickened  with 
the  sight  of  a  waste  of  life  that  he  had  but  a  few  hours  be- 
fore exultingly  contributed  to  increase. 

Appeals  to  their  feelings  as  they  rode  through  the  field 
had  been  frequent,  and  their  progress  was  much  retarded 
by  attempts  to  contribute  to  the  ease  of  a  wounded  or  a 
dying  man  ;  but  as  the  courier  constantly  urged  speed,  as 
the  only  means  of  securing  the  object  of  their  ride,  these 
halts  were  reluctantly  abandoned. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  before  they  reached  the  farm-house, 
where,  in  the  midst  of  hundreds  of  his  countrymen,  lay  the 
former  lover  of  Jane. 

As  the  subject  of  his  confession  must  be  anticipated  by 
the  reader,  we  will  give  a  short  relation  of  his  life,  and  of 
those  acts  which  more  materially  affect  our  history. 

Henry  Egerton  had  been  turned  early  on  the  world,  like 
hundreds  of  his  countrymen,  without  any  principle  to 
counteract  the  arts  of  infidelity,  or  resist  the  temptations 
of  life.  His  father  held  a  situation  under  government,  and 


340  PRECAUTION. 

was  devoted  to  his  rise  in  the  diplomatic  line.  His  mothei 
was  a  woman  of  fashion,  who  lived  for  effect  and  idle  com- 
petition with  her  sisters  in  weakness  and  folly.  All  h6 
learnt  in  his  father's  house  was  selfishness,  from  the  ex- 
ample of  one,  and  a  love  of  high  life  and  its  extravagance 
from  the  other. 

He  entered  the  army  young,  and  from  choice.  The 
splendor  and  reputation  of  the  service  caught  his  fancy  ; 
and,  by  pride  and  constitution  he  was  indifferent  to  per- 
sonal danger.  Yet  he  loved  London  and  its  amusements 
better  than  glory  ;  and  the  money  of  his  uncle,  Sir  Ed- 
gar, whose  heir  he  was  reputed  to  be,  raised  him  to  the 
rank  of  lieutenant-colonel,  without  his  spending  an  hour 
in  the  field. 

Egerton  had  some  abilities,  and  a  good  deal  of  ardor  of 
temperament,  by  nature.  The  former,  from  indulgence 
and  example,  degenerated  into  acquiring  the  art  to  please 
in  mixed  society  ;  and  the  latter,  from  want  of  employ- 
ment, expended  itself  at  the  card  table. 

The  association  between  the  vices  is  intimate.  There 
really  appears  to  be  a  kind  of  modesty  in  sin  that  makes 
it  ashamed  of  good  company.  If  we  are  unable  to  recon- 
cile a  favorite  propensity  to  our  principles,  we  are  apt  to 
abandon  the  unpleasant  restraint  on  our  actions,  rather 
than  admit  the  incongruous  mixture.  Freed  entirely  from 
the  fetters  of  our  morals,  what  is  there  that  our  vices  will 
not  prompt  us  to  commit  ?  Egerton,  like  thousands  of 
others,  went  on  from  step  to  step,  until  he  found  himself 
in  the  world,  free  to  follow  all  his  inclinations,  so  he  vio- 
lated none  of  the  decencies  of  life. 

When  in  Spain,  in  his  only  campaign,  he  was  acciden- 
tally, as  has  been  mentioned,  thrown  in  the  way  of  the 
Donna  Julia,  and  brought  her  off  the  ground  under  the 
influence  of  natural  sympathy  and  national  feeling ;  a 
kind  of  merit  that  makes  vice  only  more  dangerous,  by 
making  it  sometimes  amiable.  He  had  not  seen  his  de- 
pendant long  before  her  beauty,  situation,  and  his  passions 
decided  him  to  effect  her  ruin. 

This  was  an  occupation  that  his  figure,  manners,  and 
propensities  had  made  him  an  adept  in,  and  nothing  wag 
further  from  his  thoughts  than  the  commission  of  any  other 
than  the  crime  that,  according  to  his  code,  a  gentleman 
might  be  guilty  of  with  impunity. 

It  is,  however,  the  misfortune  of  sin,  that  from  being  our 
slave  it  becomes  a  tyrant ;  and  Egerton  attempted  what  in 


PRECA  UTION.  341 

other  countries,  and  where  the  laws  ruled,  might  have  cost 
him  his  life. 

The  conjecture  of  Pendennyss  was  true.  He  saw  the 
face  of  the  officer  who  interposed  between  him  and  his 
villanous  attempt,  but  was  hid  himself  from  view.  He 
aimed  not  at  his  life,  but  at  his  own  escape.  Happily  his 
first  shot  succeeded,  for  the  earl  would  have  been  sacri- 
ficed to  preserve  the  character  of  a  man  of  honor;  though 
no  one  was  more  regardless  of  the  estimation  he  was  held 
in  by  the  virtuous  than  Colonel  Egerton. 

In  pursuance  of  his  plans  on  Mrs.  Fitzgerald,  the  colonel 
had  sedulously  avoided  admitting  any  of  his  companions 
into  the  secret  of  his  having  a  female  in  his  care. 

When  he  left  the  army  to  return  home,  he  remained 
until  a  movement  of  the  troops  to  a  distant  part  of  the 
country  enabled  him  to  effect  his  own  purposes,  without 
incurring  their  ridicule  ;  and  when  he  found  himself 
obliged  to  abandon  his  vehicle  for  a  refuge  in  the  woods, 
the  fear  of  detection  made  him  alter  his  course  ;  and  under 
the  pretence  of  wishing  to  be  in  a  battle  about  to  be 
fought,  he  secretly  rejoined  the  army,  and  the  gallantry 
of  Colonel  Egerton  was  mentioned  in  the  next  despatches. 

Sir  Herbert  Nicholson  commanded  the  advanced  guard, 
at  which  the  earl  arrived  with  the  Donna  Julia  ;  and  like 
every  other  brave  man  (unless  guilty  himself)  was  indignant 
at  the  villany  of  the  fugitive.  The  confusion  and  enor- 
mities daily  practised  in  the  theatre  of  the  war  prevented 
any  close  inquiries  into  the  subject,  and  circumstances  had 
so  enveloped  Egerton  in  mystery,  that  nothing  but  an  inter- 
view with  the  lady  herself  was  likely  to  expose  him. 

With  Sir  Herbert  Nicholson  he  had  been  in  habits  of 
intimacy,  and  on  that  gentleman's  alluding  in  a  conver- 
sation in  the  barracks  at  F—  -  to  the  lady  brought  into 
his  quarters  before  Lisbon,  he  accidentally  omitted  men- 
tioning the  name  of  her  rescuer.  Egerton  had  never  be- 
fore heard  the  transaction  spoken  of,  and  as  he  had  of 
course  never  mentioned  the  subject  himself,  was  ignorant 
who  had  interfered  between  him  and  his  views;  also  of 
the  fate  of  Donna  Julia ;  indeed,  he  thought  it  probable 
that  it  had  not  much  improved  by  a  change  of  guardians. 

In  coming  into  Northamptonshire  he  had  several  views ; 
he  wanted  a  temporary  retreat  from  his  creditors.  Jarvis 
had  a*v  infant  fondness  for  play,  without  an  adequate  skill, 
and  the  money  of  the  young  ladies,  in  his  necessities,  was 
becoming  of  importance  ;  but  the  daughters  of  Sir  Edward 


342  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

Moseley  were  of  a  description  more  suited  to  his  taste,  and 
their  portions  were  as  ample  as  the  others.  He  had  become 
in  some  degree  attached  to  Jane  ;  and  as  her  imprudent 
parents,  satisfied  with  his  possessing  the  exterior  and  req- 
uisite recommendations  of  a  gentleman,  admitted  his  visits 
freely,  he  determined  to  make  her  his  wife. 

When  he  met  Denbigh  the  first  time,  he  saw  that  chance 
had  thrown  him  in  the  way  of  a  man  who  might  hold  his 
character  in  his  power.  He  had  never  seen  him  as  Pen- 
dennyss,  and,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  ignorant  of  the 
name  of  Julia's  friend  :  he  now  learned  for  the  first  time 
that  it  was  Denbigh.  Uneasy  at  he  knew  not  what,  fearful 
of  some  exposure  he  knew  not  how,  when  Sir  Herbert 
alluded  to  the  occurrence,  with  a  view  to  rebut  the  charge, 
if  Denbigh  should  choose  to  make  one,  and  with  the  near- 
sightedness  of  guilt,  he'pretended  to  know  the  occurrence, 
and  under  the  promise  of  secrecy,  mentioned  that  the 
name  of  the  officer  was  Denbigh.  He  had  noticed  Den- 
bigh avoiding  Sir  Herbert  at  the  ball  ;  and  judging  others 
from  himself,  thought  it  was  a  wish  to  avoid  any  allusions 
to  the  lady  he  had  brought  into  the  other's  quarters  that 
induced  the  measure  ;  for  he  was  in  hopes  that  if  Denbigh 
was  not  as  guilty  as  himself,  he  was  sufficiently  so  to  wish 
to  keep  the  transaction  from  the  eyes  of  Emily.  He  was, 
however,  prepared  for  an  explosion  or  an  alliance  with 
him,  when  the  sudden  departure  of  Sir  Herbert  removed 
the  danger  of  a  collision.  Believing  at  last  that  they  were 
to  be  brothers-in-law,  and  mistaking  the  earl  for  his  cousin, 
whose  name  he  bore,  Egerton  became  reconciled  to  the 
association  ;  while  Pendennyss,  having  in  his  absence 
heard,  on  inquiring,  some  of  the  vices  of  the  colonel,  was 
debating  with  himself  whether  he  should  expose  them  to 
Sir  Edward  or  not. 

It  was  in  their  occasional  interchange  of  civilities  that 
Pendennyss  placed  his  pocket-book  upon  a  table,  while  he 
exhibited  the  plants  to  the  colonel  ;  the  figure  of  Emily 
passing  the  window  drew  him  from  the  room,  and  Eger- 
ton, having  ended  his  examination,  observing  the  book, 
put  it  in  his  own  pocket,  to  return  it  to  its  owner  when  they 
next  met. 

The  situation,  name,  and  history  of  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  were 
never  mentioned  by  the  Moseleys  in  public  ;  but  Jane,  in 
the  confidence  of  her  affections,  had  told  her  lover  who 
the  inmate  of  the  cottage  was.  The  idea  of  her  being 
kept  there  by  Denbigh  immediately  occurred  to  him,  and 


PR  EC  A  UTION. 


343 


although  he  was  surprised  at  the  audacity  of  the  thing, 
he  was  determined  to  profit  by  the  occasion. 

To  pay  this  visit,  he  stayed  away  from  the  excursion  on 
the  water,  as  Pendennyss  had  done  to  avoid  his  friend,  Lord 
Henry  Stapleton.  An  excuse  of  business,  which  served  for 
his  apology,  kept  the  colonel  from  seeing  Denbigh  to  re- 
turn the  book,  until  after  his  visit  to  the  cottage..  His 
rhapsody  of  love,  and  offers  to  desert  his  intended  wife, 
were  nothing  but  the  commonplace  talk  of  his  purposes  ; 
and  his  presumption  in  alluding  to  his  situation  with  Miss 
Moseley,  proceeded  from  his  impressions  as  to  Julia's  real 
character.  In  the  struggle  for  the  bell,  the  pocket-book 
of  Denbigh  accidentally  fell  from  his  coat,  and  the  retreat 
of  the  colonel  was  too  precipitate  to  enable  him  to  re- 
cover it. 

Mrs.  Fitzgerald  was  too  much  alarmed  to  distinguish 
nicely,  and  Egerton  proceeded  to  the  ball-room  with  the 
indifference  of  a  hardened  offender.  When  the  arrival  of 
Miss  Jarvis,  to  whom  he  had  committed  himself,  prompted 
him  to  a  speedy  declaration,  and  the  unlucky  conversation 
of  Mr.  Holt  brought  about  a  probable  detection  of  his 
gaming  propensities,  the  colonel  determined  to  get  rid  of 
his  awkward  situation  and  his  debts  by  a  coup-de-main. 
He  accordingly  eloped  with  Miss  Jarvis. 

What  portion  of  the  foregoing  narrative  made  the  dying 
confession  of  Egerton  to  the  man  he  had  so  lately  discov- 
ered to  be  the  Earl  of  Pendennyss,  the  reader  can  easily 
imagine. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

THE  harvest  had  been  gathered,  and  the  beautiful  vales  of 
Pendennyss  were  shooting  forth  a  second  crop  of  verdure. 
The  husbandman  was  turning  his  prudent  forethought 
to  the  promises  of  the  coming  year,  while  the  castle  it- 
self exhibited  to  the  gaze  of  the  wondering  peasant  a  sight 
of  cheerfulness  and  animation  which  had  not  been  seen 
in  it  since  the  days  of  the  good  duke.  Its  numerous  win- 
dows were  opened  to  the  light  of  the  sun — its  halls  teemed 
with  the  faces  of  its  happy  inmates.  Servants  in  various 
liveries  were  seen  gliding  through  its  magnificent  apart- 
ments and  multiplied  passages.  Horses,  grooms,  and  car- 
riages, with  varied  costumes  and  different  armorial  bear- 
ings, crowded  its  spacious  stables  and  offices.  Everything 


344  PRECA  UT1ON. 

spoke  society,  splendor,  and  activity  without  ;  everything 
denoted  order,  propriety,  and  happiness  within. 

In  a  long  range  of  spacious  apartments  were  grouped  in 
the  pursuit  of  their  morning  employments,  or  in  arranging 
their  duties  and  pleasures  of  the  day,  the  guests  and  owners 
of  the  princely  abode. 

In  one  room  was  John  Moseley,  carefully  examining  the 
properties  of  some  flints  which  were  submitted  to  his  ex- 
amination by  his  attending  servant  ;  while  Grace,  sitting 
at  his  side,  playfully  snatches  the  stones  from  his  hand,  as 
she  cries  half  reproachfully,  half  tenderly : 

"  You  must  not  devote  yourself  to  your  gun  so  incessant- 
ly, Moseley  ;  it  is  cruel  to  kill  inoffensive  birds  for  your 
amusement  only." 

"  Ask  Emily's  cook,  and  Mr.  Haughton's  appetite,"  said 
John,  coolly  extending  his  hand  toward  her  for  the  flint, 
"whether  no  one  is  gratified  but  myself.  I  tell  you,  Grace, 
I  seldom  fire  in  vain." 

"That  only  makes  the  matter  worse  ;  the  slaughter  you 
commit  is  dreadful." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  John,  with  a  laugh,  "  the  ci-devant  Captain 
Jarvis  is  a  sportsman  to  your  mind.  He  would  shoot  a 
month  without  moving  a  feather  ;  he  was  a  great  friend 
to,"  throwing  an  arch  look  to  his  solitary  sister,  who  sat 
on  a  sofa  at  a  distance,  perusing  a  book,  "Jane's  feathered 
songsters." 

"  But  now,  Moseley,"  said  Grace,  yielding  the  flints,  but 
gently  retaining  the  hand  that  took  them,  "  Pendennyss 
and  Chatterton  intend  driving  their  wives,  like  good  hus- 
bands, to  see  the  beautiful  waterfall  in  the  mountains  ;  and 
what  am  I  to  do  this  long,  tedious  morning  ? " 

John  stole  an  inquiring  glance,  to  see  if  his  wife  was 
very  anxious  to  join  the  party,  cast  one  look  of  regret  on 
a  beautiful  agate  that  he  had  selected,  and  inquired — 

"  Do  you  wish  to  go  very  much,  Mrs.  Moseley  ? " 

"  Indeed — indeed  I  do,"  said  the  other,  eagerly,  "  if  " 

"  If  what  ?  " 

"  You  will  drive  me ! "  continued  she,  with  a  cheek 
slightly  tinged  with  color. 

"Well,  then,"  answered  John,  with  deliberation,  and  re- 
garding his  wife  with  affection,  "  I  will  go  on  one  condi- 
tion." 

"  Name  it,"  cried  Grace,  with  still  increasing  color. 

"That  you  will  not  expose  your  health  again  in  going 
to  the  church  on  a  Sunday,  if  it  rains." 


PRECA  UT10N.  345 

"  The  carriage  is  so  close,  Moseley,"  answered  Grace, 
with  a  paler  cheek  than  before^  and  eyes  fixed  on  the  car- 
pet, "it  is  impossible  I  can  take  cold:  you  see  the  earl  and 
countess,  and  aunt  Wilson  never  miss  public  worship,  when 
possibly  within  their  power." 

"  The  earl  goes  with  his  wife  ;  but  what  becomes  of  poor 
me  at  such  times  ? "  said  John,  taking  her  hand  and  press- 
ing it  kindly.  "  I  like  to  hear  a  good  sermon,  but  not  in 
bad  weather.  You  must  consent  to  oblige  me,  who  only 
live  in  your  presence." 

Grace  smiled  faintly,  as  John,  pursuing  the  point,  said  : 

"  What  do  you  say  to  my  condition  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  wish,"  replied  Grace,  without  the 
look  of  gayety  her  hopes  had  first  inspired,  "  I  will  not  go, 
if  it  rain." 

John  ordered  his  phaeton,  and  his  wife  went  to  her 
room  to  prepare  for  the  trip,  and  to  regret  her  own  reso- 
lution. 

In  the  recess  of  a  window,  in  which  bloomed  a  profusion 
of  exotics,  stood  the  figure  of  Lady  Marian  Denbigh,  play- 
ing with  a  half-blown  rose  of  the  richest  colors  ;  and  be- 
fore her,  leaning  against  the  angle  of  the  wall,  stood  her 
kinsman,  the  Duke  of  Derwent. 

"You  heard  the  plan  at  the  breakfast-table,"  said  his 
grace,  "to  visit  the  little  falls  in  the  hills.  But  I  suppose 
you  have  seen  them  too  often  to  undergo  the  fatigue  ?" 

"  Oh  no  !  I  love  that  ride  dearly,  and  should  wish  to  ac- 
company the  countess  in  her  first  visit  to  it.  I  had  half  a 
mind  to  ask  George  to  take  me  in  his  phaeton." 

"  My  curricle  would  be  honored  with  the  presence  of 
Lady  Marian  Denbigh,"  cried  the  duke,  with  animation, 
"  if  she  would  accept  me  for  her  knight  on  the  occasion." 

Marian  bowed  an  assent,  in  evident  satisfaction,  as  the 
duke  proceeded  : 

"  But  if  you  take  me  as  your  knight  I  should  wear  your 
ladyship's  colors  ; "  and  he  held  out  his  hand  toward  the 
budding  rose. 

Lady  Marian  hesitated  a  moment — looked  out  at  the 
prospect — up  at  the  wall — turned,  and  wondered  where 
her  brother  was  ;  and  still  finding  the  hand  of  the  duke 
extended,  while  his  eye  rested  on  her  in  admiration,  she 
gave  him  the  boon  with  a  cheek  that  vied  with  the  richest 
tints  of  the  flower.  They  separated  to  prepare,  and  it 
was  on  their  return  from  the  falls  that  the  duke  seemed 
uncommonly  gay  and  amusing,  and  the  lady  silent  with 


346  PRECAUTION-. 

her  tongue,  though  her  eyes  danced  in  every  direction  but 
toward  her  cousin. 

"  Really,  my  dear  Lady  Moseley,"  said  the  dowager,  as, 
seated  by  the  side  of  her  companion,  her  eyes  roved  over 
the  magnificence  within,  and  widely  extended  domains 
without,  "  Emily  is  well  established,  indeed — better  even 
than  my  Grace." 

"  Grace  has  an  affectionate  husband/'  replied  the  other, 
gravely,  "and  one  that  I  hope  will  make  her  happy." 

"  Oh  !  no  doubt  happy  !  "  said  Lady  Chatter  ton,  hastily  ; 
"but. they  say  Emily  has  a  jointure  of  twelve  thousand  a 
year — by-the-by,"  she  added,  in  a  low  tone,  though  no  one 
was  near  enough  to  hear  what  she  said,  "could  not  the 
earl  have  settled  Lumley  Castle  on  her  instead  of  the 
deanery  ? " 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  never  think  of  such  gloomy  subjects 
as  provisions  for  widowhood,"  cried  Lady  Moseley.  "  You 
have  been  in  Annerdale  House — is  it  not  a  princely  man- 
sion ? " 

"  Princely  indeed,"  rejoined  the  dowager,  sighing  ; 
"  don't  the  earl  intend  increasing  the  rents  of  this  estate 
as  the  leases  fall  in  ?  I  am  told  they  are  very  low  now  !  " 

"  I  believe  not,"  said  the  other.  "  He  has  enough,  and 
is  willing  others  should  prosper.  But  there  is  Clara,  with 
her  little  boy — is  he  not  a  lovely  child  ?  "  cried  the  grand- 
mother, rising  to  take  the  infant  in  her  arms. 

"  Oh  !  excessively  beautiful ! "  said  the  dowager,  look- 
ing the  other  way  ;  and,  observing  Catherine  making  a 
movement  toward  Lord  Henry  Stapleton,  she  called  to 
her :  "  Lady  Herriefield,  come  this  way,  my  dear — I  wish 
to  speak  to  you." 

Kate  obeyed,  with  a  sullen  pout  of  her  pretty  lip,  and 
entered  into  some  idle  discussion  about  a  cap,  though  her 
eyes  wandered  round  the  rooms  in  listless  vacancy. 

The  dowager  had  the  curse  of  bad  impressions  in  youth 
to  contend  with,  and  labored  infinitely  harder  now  to  make 
her  daughter  act  right,  than  formerly  she  had  ever  done 
to  make  her  act  wrong. 

.  "  Here  !  uncle  Benfield,"  cried  Emily,  with  a  face  glow- 
ing with  health  and  animation,  as  she  approached  his  sear 
with  a  glass  in  her  hands.  "  Here  is  the  negus  you 
wished  :  I  have  made  it  myself,  and  you  will  praise  it  of 
course." 

"Oh!  my  dear  lady  Pendennyss,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, rising  politely  from  his  seat  to  receive  the  beverage ' 


PR  EC  A  UT10N. 


347 


"  you  are  putting  yourself  to  a  great  deal  of  trouble  for 
an  old  bachelor  like  me  ;  too  much,  indeed,  too  much." 

"Old  bachelors  are  sometimes  more  esteemed  than 
young  ones,"  cried  the  earl,  gayly,  joining  them  in  time  to 
hear  this  speech.  "Here  is  my  friend,  Mr.  Peter  Johnson-; 
who  knows  when  we  may  dance  at  his  wedding  ?" 

"My  lord,  and  my  lady,  and  my  honored  master,"  said 
Peter,  gravely,  in  reply,  bowing  respectfully  where  he 
stood  waiting  to  take  his  master's  glass,  "  I  am  past  the 
age  to  think  of  taking  a  wife  :  I  am  seventy-three  coming 
next  'lammas,  counting  by  the  old  style." 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  do  with  your  three  hundred  a 
year,"  said  Emily,  with  a  smile,  "unless  you  bestow  it  on 
some  good  woman,  for  making  the  evening  of  your  life 
comfortable  ? " 

"  My  lady — hem — my  lady,"  said  the  steward,  blushing  ; 
"1  had  a  little  thought,  with  your  kind  ladyship's  consent, 
as  I  have  no  relations,  chick  or  child  in  the  world,  what  to 
do  with  it." 

"  I  should  be  happy  to  hear  your  plan,"  said  the  count- 
ess, observing  that  the  steward  was  anxious  to  communi- 
cate something. 

"Why,  my  lady,  if  my  lord  and  my  honored  master's 
agreeable,  I  did  think  of  making  another  codicil  to  mas- 
ter's will  in  order  to 'dispose  of  it." 

"Your  master's  will,"  said  the  earl,  laughing  ;  "  why  not  / 
to  your  own,  good  Peter  ?  " 

"  My  honored  lord,"  said  the  steward,  with  great  humil- 
ity, "  it  don't  become  a  poor  serving-man  like  me  to  make 
a  will." 

"  But  how  will  you  prove  it?"  said  the  earl,  kindly, 
willing  to  convince  him  of  his  error  ;  "  you  must  be  both 
dead  to  prove  it." 

"  Our  wills,"  said  Peter,  gulping  his  words,  "  will  be 
proved  on  the  same  day." 

His  master  looked  round  at  him  with  great  affection,  and 
both  the  earl  and  Emily  were  too  much  struck  to  say 
anything.  Peter  had,  however,  the  subject  too  much  at 
heart  to  abandon  it  just  as  he  had  broken  the  ice.  He 
anxiously  wished  for  the  countess's  consent  to  the  scheme, 
for  he  would  not  affront  her,  even  after  he  was  dead. 

"  My  lady — Miss  Emmy,"  said  Johnson,  eagerly,  "my 
plan  is,  if  my  honored  master's  agreeable — to  make  a  cod- 
icil, and  give  my  mite  to  a  little — Lady  Emily  Denbigh." 

"  Oh  !  Peter,  you  and  uncle  Benfield  are  both  too  good," 


348  PRECA  UTION. 

cried  Emily,  laughing  and  blushing,  as  she  hastened  to 
Clara  and  her  mother. 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  cried  the  delighted  earl,  fol- 
lowing his  wife  with  his  eyes,  and  shaking  the  steward 
cordially  by  the  hand;  "and,  if  no  better  expedient  be 
adopted  by  us,  you  have  full  permission  to  do  as  you 
please  with  your  money." 

"  Peter,"  said  his  master  to  him  in  a  low  tone,  "  you 
should  never  speak  of  such  things  prematurely  ;  now  I 
remember  when  the  Earl  of  Pendennyss,  my  nephew,  was 
first  presented  to  me,  I  was  struck  with  the  delicacy  and 
propriety  of  his  demeanor,  and  the  Lady  Pendennyss,  my 
niece,  too  ;  you  never  see  anything  forward,  or — Ah  !  Em- 
my dear,"  said  the, old  man,  tenderly  interrupting  himself, 
"  you  are  too  good  to  remember  your  old  uncle,"  taking 
one  of  the  fine  peaches  she  handed  him  from  a  plate. 

"  My  lord,"  said  Mr.  Haughton  to  the  earl,  "  Mrs.  Ives 
and  myself  have  had  a  contest  about  the  comforts  of  mat- 
rimony ;  she  insists  she  may  be  quite  as  happy  at  Bolton 
Parsonage  as  in  this  noble  castle,  and  with  this  rich  pros- 
pect in  view." 

"I  hope,"  said  Francis,  "you  are  not  teaching  my  wife 
to  be  discontented  with  her  humble  lot — if  so,  both  your 
visit  and  hers  will  be  an  unhappy  one." 

"  It  would  be  no  easy  task,  if  our  good  friend  intended 
any  such  thing  by  his  jests,"  said  Clara,  smiling.  "  I  know 
my  true  interests,  I  trust,  too  well  to  wish  to  change  my 
fortune." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Pendennyss  ;  "it  is  wonderful  how 
little  our  happiness  depends  on  a  temporal  condition. 
When  here,  or  at  Lumley  Castle,  surrounded  by  my  ten- 
antry there  are,  I  confess,  moments  of  weakness,  in  which 
the  loss  of  my  wealth  and  rank  would  be  missed  greatly  ; 
but  when  on  service,  subjected  to  great  privations,  and 
surrounded  by  men  superior  to  me  in  military  rank,  who 
say  unto  me — go,  and  I  go — come,  and  I  come — I  find  my 
enjoyments  intrinsically  the  same." 

"That,"  said  Francis,  "may  be  owing  to  your  lordship's 
tempered  feelings,  which  have  taught  you  to  look  beyond 
this  world  for  pleasures  and  consolation." 

"It  has,  doubtless,  an  effect,"  said  the  earl,  "but  there 
is  no  truth  of  which  I  arn  more  fully  persuaded,  than  that 
our  happiness  here  does  not  depend  upon  our  lot  in  life, 
so  we  are  not  suffering  for  necessaries  —  even  changes 
bring  less  real  misery  than  they  are  supposed  to  do." 


PR  EC  A  UTION.  349 

"Doubtless,"  cried  Mr.  Haughton,  " under  the  circum- 
stances, I  would  not  wish  to  change  even  with  your  lord- 
ship— unless,  indeed,"  he  continued,  with  a  smile  and  bow 
to  the  countess,  "  it  were  the  temptation  of  your  lovely 
wife." 

"  You  are  quite  polite,"  said  Emily,  laughing,  "  but  I 
have  no  desire  to  deprive  Mrs.  Haughton  of  a  companion 
she  has  made  out  so  well  with  these  twenty  years  past." 

"  Thirty,  my  lady,  if  you  please." 

"  And  thirty  more,  I  hope,"  continued  Emily,  as  a  ser- 
vant announced  the  several  carriages  at  the  door.  The 
younger  part  of  the  company  now  hastened  to  their  dif- 
ferent engagements,  and  Chatterton  handed  Harriet ;  John, 
Grace  ;  and  Pendennyss,  Emily,  into  their  respective  car- 
riages ;  the  duke  and  Lady  Marian  following,  but  at  some 
little  distance  from  the  rest  of  the  party. 

As  the  earl  drove  from  the  door,  the  countess  looked 
up  to  a  window,  at  which  were  standing  her  aunt  and 
Doctor  Ives.  She  kissed  her  hand  to  them,  with  a  face 
in  which  glowed  the  mingled  expression  of  innocence, 
love,  and  joy. 

Before  leaving  the  park,  the  party  passed  Sir  Edward, 
with  his  wife  leaning  on  one  arm  and  Jane  on  the  other, 
pursuing  their  daily  walk.  The  baronet  followed  the  car- 
riages with  his  eyes,  and  exchanged  looks  of  the  fondest 
love  with  his  children,  as  they  drove  slowly  and  respect- 
fully by  him  ;  and  if  the  glance  which  followed  on  Jane 
did  not  speak  equal  pleasure,"  it  surely  noted  its  proper 
proportion  of  paternal  love. 

"You  have  much  reason  to  congratulate  yourself  on  the 
happy  termination  of  your  labors,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a 
smile,  to  the  widow  ;  "  Emily  is  placed,  so  far  as  human 
foresight  can  judge,  in  the  happiest  of  all  stations  a  fe- 
male can  be  in  ;  she  is  the  pious  wife  of  a  pious  husband, 
beloved,  and  deserving  of  it." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  drawing  back  from  following 
the  phaeton  with  her  eyes,  "they  are  as  happy  as  this  world 
will  admit,  and,  what  is  better,  they  are  well  prepared  to 
meet  any  reverse  of  fortune  which  may  occur,  as  well  as  to 
discharge  the  duties  on  which  they  have  entered.  I  do  not 
think*,"  continued  she,  musing,  "that  Pendennyss  can  ever 
doubt  the  affections  of  such  a  woman  as  Emily." 

"I  should  think  not,"  said  the  doctor;  "but  what  can 
excite  such  a  thought  in  your  breast,  and  one  so  much  to 
the  prejudice  of  George  ?" 


350  PR  EC  A  UTION. 

"  The  only  unpleasant  thing  I  ever  observed  in  him/ 
said  Mrs.  Wilson,  gravely,  "  is  the  suspicion  which  induced 
him  to  adopt  the  disguise  in  which  he  entered  our  family." 

"  He  did  not  adopt  it,  madam  ;  chance  and  circumstances 
drew  it  around  him  accidentally  ;  and  when  you  consider 
the  peculiar  state  of  his  mind  from  the  discovery  of  his 
mother's  misconduct — his  own  great  wealth  and  rank — it 
is  not  so  surprising  that  he  should  yield  to  a  deception 
rather  harmless  than  injurious." 

"  Dr.  Ives,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  "is  not  wont  to  defend 
deceit." 

"Nor  do  I  now,  madam,"  replied  the  doctor,  with  a 
smile.  "  I  acknowledge  the  offence  of  George,  myself, 
wife,  and  son.  I  remonstrated  at  the  time  upon  principle  ; 
I  said  the  end  would  not  justify  the  means  ;  that  a  depart- 
ure from  ordinary  rules  of  propriety  was  at  all  times  dan- 
gerous, and  seldom  practised  with  impunity." 

"And  you  failed  to  convince  your  hearers,"  cried  Mrs. 
Wilson,  gayly  ;  "a  novelty  in  your  case,  my  good  rector." 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  compliment,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I 
did  convince  them  as  to  the  truth  of  the  principle,  but  the 
earl  contended  that  his  case  might  make  an  innocent  ex- 
ception. He  had  the  vanity  to  think,  I  believe,  that  by 
concealing  his  real  name  he  injured  himself  more  than  any 
one  else,  and  got  rid  of  the  charge  in  some  such  way.  He 
is,  however,  thoroughly  convinced  of  the  truth  of  the  po- 
sition by  practice  ;  his  sufferings,  growing  out  of  the  mis- 
take of  his  real  character,  "and  which  could  not  have  hap- 
pened had  he  appeared  in  proper  person,  having  been 
greater  than  he  is  ready  to  acknowledge." 

"  If  they  study  the  fate  of  the  Donna  Julia,  and  his  own 
weakness,"  said  the  widow,  "  they  will  have  a  salutary 
moral  always  at  hand,  to  teach  them  the  importance  of  two 
cardinal  virtues  at  least — obedience  and  truth." 

"Julia  has  suffered  much,"  replied  the  doctor  ;  "and  al- 
though she  has  returned  to  her  father,  the  consequences  of 
her  imprudence  are  likely  to  continue.  When  once  the 
bonds  of  mutual  confidence  and  respect  are  broken,  they 
may  be  partially  restored,  it  is  true,  but  never  with  a 
warmth  and  reliance  such  as  existed  previously.  To  return, 
however,  to  yourself,  do  you  not  feel  a  sensation  of  delight 
at  'the  prosperous  end  of  your  exertions  in  behalf  of 
Emily  ? " 

"  It  is  certainly  pleasant  to  think  we  have  discharged 
our  duties,  and  the  task  is  much  easier  than  we  are  apt  to 


PRECAUTION-.  351 

suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson  ;  "  it  is  only  to  commence  the 
foundation,  so  that  it  will  be  able  to  support  the  super- 
structure. I  have  endeavored  to  make  Emily  a  Christian. 
I  have  endeavored  to  form  such  a  taste  and  principles  in 
her,  that  she  would  not  be  apt  to  admire  an  improper 
suitor,  and  I  have  labored  to  prepare  her  to  discharge  her 
continued  duties  through  life,  in  such  a  manner  and  with 
such  a  faith,  as  under  the  providence  of  God  will  result  in 
happiness  far  exceeding  anything  she  now  enjoys.  In  all 
these,  by  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  I  have  succeeded,  and 
had  occasion  offered,  I  would  have  assisted  her  inexperience 
through  the  more  delicate  decisions  of  her  sex,  though  in 
no  instance  would  I  attempt  to  control  them." 

"  You  are  right,  my  dear  madam,"  said  the  doctor,  taking 
her  kindly  by  the  hand,  "and  had  I  a  daughter,  I  would 
follow  a  similar  course.  Give  her  delicacy,  religion,  and 
a  proper  taste,  aided  by  the  unseen  influence  of  a  prudent 
parent's  care,  and  the  chances  of  a  woman  for  happiness 
would  be  much  greater  than  they  are  ;  and  I  am  entirely 
of  your  opinion,  *  That  prevention  is  at  all  times  bettcK 
than  cure.'  " 


THE   END. 


"This  bears  some  resemblance,  Mr.  Wilmeter,  to  an  interview  in  a 
convent  j  I  am  the  novice,  you  the  excluded  friend,  compelled  to  pay 
his  visit  through  a  grate.'  ''—The  Ways  of  the  Hour,  page  90. 


THE 


WAYS  OF  THE  HOUR 


A    TALE 


BY 

J.   FENIMORE    COOPER 


"  Is  this  the  way 
I  must  return  to  native  dust  ? ' 


PREFACE. 


THE  object  of  this  book  is  to  draw  the  attention  of  the 
reader  to  some  of  the  social  evils  that  beset  us  ;  more  par- 
ticularly in  connection  with  the  administration  of  criminal 
justice.  So  long  a  time  has  intervened  since  the  thought 
occurred,  and  so  many  interruptions  have  delayed  the  prog- 
ress of  the  work,  that  it  is  felt  the  subject  has  been  very 
imperfectly  treated  ;  but  it  is  hoped  that  enough  has  been 
done  to  cause  a  few  to  reflect  on  a  matter  of  vital  impor- 
tance ;  one  that  to  them  may  possess  the  interest  of 
novelty. 

A  strange  indifference  exists  as  to  the  composition  of 
the  juries.  In  our  view,  the  institution  itself,  so  admirable 
in  a  monarchy,  is  totally  unsuited  to  a  democracy.  The 
very  principle  that  renders  it  so  safe  where  there  is  a  great 
central  power  to  resist,  renders  it  unsafe  in  a  state  of  so- 
ciety in  which  few  have  sufficient  resolution  to  attempt 
even  to  resist  popular  impulses. 

A  hundred  instances  might  be  given  in  which  the  juries 
of  this  country  are  an  evil ;  one  or  two  of  which  we  will 
point  out.  In  trials  between  railroad  companies  and  those 
who  dwell  along  their  lines,  prejudice  is  usually  so  strong 
against  the  former  that  justice  for  them  is  nearly  hopeless. 
In  certain  parts  of  the  country,  the  juries  are  made  the  in- 
struments of  defeating  the  claims  of  creditors  who  dwell  at 
a  distance,  and  are  believed  to  have  interests  opposed  to 
the  particular  community  where  the  debtor  resides.  This 
is  a  most  crying  evil,  and  has  been  the  source  of  many  and 
grievous  wrongs.  Whenever  there  is  a  motive  for  creating 
a  simulated  public  opinion,  by  the  united  action  of  several 
journals,  justice  is  next  to  hopeless  ;  such  combinations 
rarely,  if  ever,  occurring  in  its  behalf.  In  cases  that  are 
connected  with  the  workings  of  political  schemes,  and  not 
unfrequently  in  those  in  which  political  men  are  parties  to 
the  suits,  it  is  often  found  that  the  general  prejudices  or 


4  PREFA  CE. 

partialities  of  trie  out-door  factions  enter  the  jury-box. 
This  is  a  most  serious  evil  too  ;  for,  even  when  the  feeling 
does  not  produce  a  direct  and  flagrant  wrong,  it  is  very  apt 
so  far  to  temper  the  right  as  to  deprive  it  of  much  of  its 
virtue.  In  a  country  like  this,  in  which  party%  penetrates 
to  the  very  bottom  of  society,  the  extent  of  this  evil  can  be 
known  only  to  those  who  are  brought  into  close  contact 
with  the  ordinary  workings  of  the  institution. 

In  a  democracy,  proper  selections  in  the  material,  that 
are  necessary  to  render  juries  safe,  become  nearly  impos- 
sible. Then,  the  tendency  is  to  the  accumulation  of  power 
in  bodies  of  men;  and  in  a  state  of  society  like  our  own, 
the  juries  get  to  be  much  too  independent  of  the  opinion 
of  the  court.  It  is  precisely  in  that  condition  of  things  in 
which  the  influence  and  authority  of  the  judge  guide  the 
juror,  and  the  investigation  and  substantial  power  of  the 
juror  react  on  the  proceedings  of  the  court,  that  the  great- 
est benefits  have  been  found  to  accrue  from  this  institution. 
The  reverse  of  this  state  of  things  will  be  very  likely  to 
produce  the  greatest  amount  of  evil. 

It  is  certain  that  the  juries  are  falling  into  disrepute 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land.  The  diffi- 
culty is  to  find  a  substitute.  As  they  are  bodies  holding 
the  lives,  property  and  character  of  every  member  of  the 
community,  more  or  less,  in  their  power,  it  is  not  to  be 
supposed  that  the  masses  will  surrender  this  important 
means  of  exercising  their  authority  voluntarily,  or  with 
good  will.  Time  alone  can  bring  reform  through  the  ex- 
tent of  the  abuses. 

The  writer  has  not  the  vanity  to  suppose  that  anything 
contained  in  this  book  will  produce  a  very  serious  impres- 
sion on  the  popularity  of  the  jury.  Such  is  not  its  design. 
All  that  is  anticipated  is  to  cause  a  portion  of  his  readers 
to  reflect  on  the  subject  ;  persons  who  probably  have  never 
yet  given  it  a  moment  of  thought. 

There  is  a  tendency,  at  the  present  time,  to  court  change 
for  its  own  sake.  This  is  erroneously  termed  a  love  of 
reform.  Something  very  like  a  revolution  is  going  on  in 
our  midst,  while  there  is  much  reason  to  apprehend  that 
few  real  grievances  are  abated  ;  the  spurious  too  exclu- 
sively occupying  the  popular  mind,  to  render  easy  a  just 
distinction  between  them.  When  an  American  prates 
about  aristocracy,  it  is  pretty  safe  to  set  him  down  as 
knavish  or  ignorant.  It  is  purely  cant ;  and  the  declaimers 
would  be  puzzled  to  point  to  a  single  element  of  the  little 


PREFACE.  5 

understood  and  much  decried  institution,  the  country  be- 
ing absolutely  without  any,  unless  the  enjoyment  of  the 
ordinary  rights  of  property  can  be  so  considered.  But  the 
demagogue  must  have  his  war-cry  as  well  as  the  Indian*; 
and  it  is  probable  he  will  continue  to  whoop  as  long  as  the 
country  contains  minds  weak  enough  to  furnish  him  with 
dupes. 

COOPERSTOWN,  March  12,  1850. 


THE  WAYS  OF  THE  HOUR 


CHAPTER  I. 

Mar.   My  Lord  Aumerle,  is  Harry  Hereford  armed  ? 
Aum.  Yea,  at  all  points  ;  and  longs  to  enter  in. 

— King  Richard  II. 

IN  one  respect,  there  is  a  visible  improvement  in  the 
goodly  town  of  Manhattan,  and  that  is  in  its  architecture. 
Of  its  growth,  there  has  never  been  any  question,  while 
many  have  disputed  its  pretension  to  improvement.  A 
vast  expansion  of  mediocrity,  though  useful  and  imposing, 
rarely  satisfies  either  the  judgment  or  the  taste  ;  those  who 
possess  these  qualities,  requiring  a  nearer  approach  to 
what  is  excellent,  than  can  ever  be  found  beneath  the  term 
just  mentioned. 

A  town  which  is  built  of  red  bricks,  that  are  faced  with 
white  marble,  the  whole  garnished  with  green  blinds,  can 
never  have  but  one  outward  sign — that  of  tawdry  vul- 
garity. But  this  radical  defect  is  slowly  disappearing  from 
the  streets  of  Manhattan  ;  and  those  who  build  are  getting 
to  understand  that  architecture,  like  statuary,  will  not  ad- 
mit of  strong  contrasts  in  colors.  Horace  Walpoie  tells 
us  of  a  certain  old  Lord  Pembroke,  who  blackened  the 
eyes  of  the  gods  and  goddesses  in  the  celebrated  gallery  at 
Wilton,  and  prided  himself  on  the  achievement,  as  if  he 
had  been  another  Phidias.  There  have  been  thousands  of 
those  who  have  labored  in  the  spirit  of  this  Earl  of  Pem- 
broke in  the  streets  of  all  the  American  towns;  but  travel- 
ling, hints,  books  and  example,  are  slowly  effecting  a 
change  ;  and  whole  squares  may  now  be  seen  in  which  the 
eye  rests  with  satisfaction  on  blinds,  facings  and  bricks,  all 
brought  to  the  same  pleasing,  sober,  architectural  tint.  We 
regard  this  as  the  first  step,  in  advance,  that  has  been  made 
in  the  right  direction,  so  far  as  the  outward  aspect  of  the 


8  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

town  is  concerned,  and  look  forward,  with  hope,  to  the  day 
when  Manhattan  shall  have  banished  its  rag-fair  finery  al- 
together, and  the  place  will  become  as  remarkable  for  the 
chaste  simplicity  of  its  streets,  as  they  have  hitherto  been 
for  their  marked  want  of  taste. 

With  this  great  town,  mottled  as  it  is,  in  people  as  well 
as  in  hues,  with  its  native  population  collected  from  all 
parts  of  this  vast  republic,  and  its  European  representa- 
tives amounting  to  scores  of  thousands,  we  shall  have  much 
to  do  in  the  succeeding  pages.  Our  researches,  however, 
will  be  bestowed  more  on  things  moral  than  on  things 
physical ;  and  we  shall  endeavor  to  carry  the  reader  with 
us  through  scenes  that,  we  regret  to  say,  are  far  more 
characteristic  than  novel. 

In  one  of  the  cross  streets  that  communicate  with  Broad- 
way and  below  Canal,  stands  a  dwelling  that  is  obnoxious 
to  all  the  charges  of  bad  taste  to  which  there  has  already 
been  allusion,  as  well  as  to  certain  others  that  have  not 
yet  been  named,  at  all.  A  quarter  of  a  century  since,  or 
within  the  first  twenty  years  of  its  own  existence,  the 
house  in  question  would  have  been  regarded  as  decidedly 
patrician,  though  it  is  now  lost  amid  the  thousands  of  simi- 
lar abodes  that  have  arisen  since  its  own  construction. 
There  it  stands,  with  its  red  bricks  periodically  painted 
redder  ;  its  marble  facings,  making  a  livery  of  red  turned 
up  with  white  ;  its  green  blinds,  its  high  stoop,  its  half- 
buried  and  low  basement,  and  all  its  neatness  and  comfort, 
notwithstanding  its  flagrant  architectural  sins.  Into  this 
building  we  now  propose  to  enter,  at  the  very  early  hour 
of  eight  in  the  morning. 

The  principal  floor  was  divided,  as  usual,  between  a  dining 
and  a  drawing-room,  with  large  communicating  doors. 
This  was  the  stereotyped  construction  of  all  Manhattanese 
dwellings  of  any  pretension,  a  quarter  of  a  century  since  ; 
and  that  of  Mr.  Thomas  Dunscomb,  the  owner  and  occu- 
pant of  the  house  in  question,  had  been  built  in  rigid  con- 
formity with  the  fashion  of  its  day.  Squire  Dunscomb,  as 
this  gentleman  was  termed  in  all  the  adjacent  country 
counties,  where  he  was  well-known  as  a  reliable  and  sound 
legal  adviser  ;  Mr.  Thomas  Dunscomb,  as  he  was  styled  by 
various  single  ladies,  who  wondered  he  never  married  ;  or 
Tom  Dunscomb,  as  he  was  familiarly  called  by  a  herd  of 
unyoked  youths,  all  of  whom  were  turned  of  sixty,  was  a 
capital  fellow,  in  each  of  his  many  characters.  As  a  lawyer, 
he  was  as  near  the  top  of  the  bar  as  a  man  can  be,  who  never 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE  HOUR.  g 

had  any  pretensions  to  be  an  orator,  and  whose  longest  ef- 
fort seldom  exceeded  half  an  hour.  Should  the  plan  of 
placing  eloquence  in  hobbles  reach  our  own  bar,  his  habit 
of  condensing,  his  trick  of  getting  multum  in  parvo,  may  yet 
bring  him  to  the  very  summit ;  for  he  will  have  an  im- 
mense advantage  over  those  who,  resembling  a  country 
buck  at  a  town  ball,  need  the  whole  field  to  cut  their  flour- 
ishes in.  As  a  man  of  the  world,  he  was  well-bred,  though 
a  little  cynical,  very  agreeable,  most  especially  with  the 
ladies,  and  quite  familiar  with  all  the  better  habits  of  the 
best-toned  circles  of  the  place.  As  a  boon  companion,  Tom 
Dunscomb  was  an  immense  favorite,  being  particularly 
warm-hearted,  and  always  ready  for  any  extra  eating  or 
drinking.  In  addition  to  these  leading  qualities,  Dunscomb 
was  known  to  be  rich,  having  inherited  a  very  tolerable 
estate,  as  well  as  having  added  much  to  his  means,  by  a 
large  and  lucrative  practice.  If  to  these  circumstances  we 
add  that  of  a  very  prepossessing  personal  appearance,  in 
which  age  was  very  green,  the  reader  has  all  that  is  neces- 
sary for  an  introduction  to  one  of  our  principal  characters. 

Though  a  bachelor,  Mr.  Dunscomb  did  not  live  alone. 
He  had  a  nephew  and  a  niece  in  his  family,  the  orphan 
children  of  a  sister  who  had  now  been  dead  many  years. 
They  bore  the  name  of  Wilmeter,  which  in  the  family  par- 
lance was  almost  always  pronounced  Wilmington.  It  was 
Jack  Wilmington,  and  Sally  Wilmington,  at  school,  at  home, 
and  with  all  their  intimates  ;  though  Mr.  John  Wilmeter 
and  Miss  Sarah  Wilmeter  were  often  spoken  of  in  their 
little  out-door  world,  it  being  rather  an  affectation  of  the 
time  to  prove,  in  this  manner,  that  one  retains  some  knowl- 
edge of  the  spelling-book.  We  shall  write  the  name  as  it 
is  written  by  the  parties  themselves,  forewarning  the  reader 
that  if  he  desires  to  pronounce  it  by  the  same  family 
standard,  he  must  take  the  unauthorized  spelling  as  a 
guide.  We  own  ourselves  to  a  strong  predilection  for  old 
familiar  sounds,  as  well  as  old  familiar  faces. 

At  half-past  8  A.M.,  of  a  fine  morning,  late  in  May,  when 
the  roses  were  beginning  to  show  their  tints  amid  the  verd- 
ure of  the  leaves  in  Mr.  Dunscomb's  yard,  the  three  indi- 
viduals just  mentioned  were  at  the  breakfast-table  of  what 
it  is  the  fashion  of  New  York  to  term  a  dining-room.  The 
windows  were  open,  and  a  soft  and  fragrant  air  filled  the 
apartment.  We  have  said  that  Mr.  Dunscomb  was  afflu- 
ent, and  he  chose  to  enjoy  his  means,  not  a  la  Manhattan, 
in  idle  competition  with  the  nouveaux  riches^  but  in  a  more 


lo  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

quiet  and  rational  way.  His  father  had  occupied  lots, 
"  running  through,"  as  it  is  termed;  building  his  house  on 
one  street  and  his  stables  on  the  other  ;  leaving  himself  a 
space  in  the  rear  of  the  former,  that  was  prodigious  for  a 
town  so  squeezed  into  parallelograms  of  twenty-five  feet 
by  a  hundred.  This  open  space  was  of  the  usual  breadth, 
but  it  actually  measured  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  length, 
an  area  that  would  have  almost  justified  its  being  termed 
a  "  park,"  in  the  nomenclature  of  the  town.  This  yard 
Sarah  had  caused  to  be  well  garnished  with  shrubbery, 
and,  for  its  dimensions,  it  was  really  a  sort  of  oasis  in  that 
wilderness  of  bricks. 

The  family  was  not  alone  that  morning.  A  certain  Mi- 
chael Millington  was  a  guest  of  Jack's,  and  seemingly  quite 
at  home  in  the  little  circle.  The  business  of  eating  and 
drinking  was  pretty  well  through  with,  though  each  of  the 
four  cups  had  its  remains  of  tea  or  coffee,  and  Sarah  sat 
stirring  hers  idly,  while  her  soft  eyes  were  turned  with  in- 
terest on  the  countenances  of  the  two  young  men.  The 
last  had  a  sheet  of  writing-paper  lying  between  them,  and 
their  heads  were  close  together,  as  both  studied  that  which 
was  written  on  it  in  pencil.  As  for  Mr.  Dunscomb,  him- 
self, he  was  fairly  surrounded  by  documents  of  one  sort 
and  another.  Two  or  three  of  the  morning  papers,  glanced 
at  but  not  read,  lay  opened  on  the  floor  ;  on  each  side  of 
his  plate  was  a  brief,  or  some  lease  or  re-lease  ;  while  a  copy 
of  the  new  and  much-talked-of  code  was  in  his  hand.  As 
we  say  in  our  American  English,  Mr.  Dunscomb  was  "em- 
phatically "  a  common-law  lawyer  ;  and,  as  our  transatlan- 
tic brethren  would  remark  in  their  sometime  cockney 
dialect,  he  was  not  at  all  "agreeable  "  to  this  great  innova- 
tion on  "  the  perfection  of  human  reason."  He  muttered 
occasionally  as  he  read,  and  now  and  then  he  laid  down 
the  book,  and  seemed  to  muse.  All  this,  however,  was 
quite  lost  on  Sarah,  whose  soft  blue  eyes  still  rested  on  the 
interested  countenances  of  the  twp  young  men.  At  length 
Jack  seized  the  paper,  and  wrote  a  line  or  two  hurriedly, 
w7ith  his  pencil. 

"There,  Mike,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  self-gratulation,  "  I 
think  that  will  do  !  " 

"It  has  one  merit  of  a  good  toast,"  answered  the  friend, 
a  little  doubtingly  ;  "  it  is  sententious." 

"As  all  toasts  ought  to  be.  If  we  are  to  have  this  din- 
ner,  and  the  speeches,  and  all  the  usual  publications  after- 
ward, I  choose  that  we  should  appear  with  some  little  credit. 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  u 

Pray,  sir,"  raising   his  eyes  to   his   uncle,  and  his  voice  to 
correspond,  "  what  do  you  think  of  it,  now  ?  " 

"  Just  as  I  always  have,  Jack.  It  will  never  do  at  all. 
Justice  would  halt  miserably  under  such  a  system  of  prac- 
tice. Some  of  the  forms  of  pleadings  are  infernal,  if  plead- 
ings they  can  be  called  at  all.  I  detest  even  the  names 
they  give  their  proceedings — complaints  and  answers  !  " 

"  They  are  certainly  not  as  formidable  to  the  ear,"  re- 
turned Jack,  a  little  saucily,  "as  rebutters  and  sur-rebut- 
ters.  But  I  was  not  thinking  of  the  code,  sir;  I  was  asking 
your  opinion  of  my  new  toast." 

"  Even  a  fee  could  not  extract  an  opinion,  unless  I  heard 
it  read." 

"  Well,  sir,  here  it  is  :  *  The  Constitution  of  the  United 
States  ;  the  palladium  of  our  civil  and  religious  liberties.' 
Now  I  do  not  think  I  can  much  better  that,  Uncle  Tom." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  you  say  so,  Jack." 

"Why  so,  sir  ?  I'm  sure  it  is  good  American  sentiment ; 
and  what  is  more,  it  has  a  flavor  of  the  old  English  princi- 
ples that  you  so  much  admire,  about  it,  too.  Why  do  you 
dislike  it,  sir  ?" 

"  For  several  reasons — it  would  be  commonplace,  which 
a  toast  should  never  be,  were  it  true  ;  but  there  happens 
not  to  be  a  word  of  truth  in  your  sentiment,  sonorous  as  it 
may  sound  in  your  ears." 

"  Not  true  !  Does  not  the  constitution  guarantee  to  the 
citizen  religious  liberty  ? " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it." 

"  You  amaze  me,  sir  !  Why,  here,  just  listen  to  its  lan- 
guage, if  you  please." 

Hereupon  Jack  opened  a  book,  and  read  the  clause  on 
which  he  relied  to  confute  one  of  the  ablest  constitutional 
lawyers  and  clearest  heads  in  America.  Not  that  Mr.  Duns- 
comb  was  what  is  called  an  "expounder,"  great  or  small  ; 
but  he  never  made  a  mistake  on  the  subject  in  hand,  and 
had  often  caused  the  best  of  the  "  expounders  "  to  retrace 
their  steps.  He  was  an  original  thinker,  but  of  the  safest 
and  most  useful  sort ;  one  who  distinguished  between  the 
institutions  of  England  and  America,  while  he  submitted  to 
the  fair  application  of  minor  principles  that  are  so  common 
to  both.  As  for  his  nephew,  he  knew  no  more  of  the  great 
instrument  he  held  in  his  hand,  than  he  had  gleaned  from 
ill-digested  newspaper  remarks,  vapid  speeches  in  Congress, 
and  the  erroneous  notions  that  float  about  the  country, 
coming  from  "  nobody  knows  whom,"  and  leading  literally 


12  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOlrR. 

to  nothing.  The  ignorance  that  prevails  on  such  subjects 
is  really  astounding,  when  one  remembers  the  great  num- 
ber of  battles  that  are  annually  fought  over  this  much- 
neglected  compact. 

"Ay,  here  is  the  clause — just  please  to  hear  it,  sir,"  con- 
tinued Jack.  "  '  Congress  shall  make  no  law  respecting 
an  establishment  of  religion,  or  prohibiting  the  free  exer- 
cise thereof  ;  or  abridging  the  freedom  of  speech,  or  of 
the  press  ;  or  the  right  of  the  people  peaceably  to  assem- 
ble, and  to  petition  the  government  fora  redress  of  griev- 
ances.' There,  I  think  that  will  go  far  toward  justifying 
the  whole  toast,  Mike." 

This  was  said  a  little  triumphantly,  and  not  a  little  con- 
fidently. 

The  only  answer  Mr.  Dunscomb  condescended  to  make 
was  an  expressive  "  Umph  !  "  As  for  Michael  Millington, 
he  was  a  little  timid  about  expressing  an  opinion,  and  that 
for  two  reasons  ;  he  had  often  experienced  Mr.  Dunscomb's 
superior  wisdom,  and  he  knew  that  Sarah  heard  all  that 
passed. 

"  I  wish  your  uncle  would  lay  aside  the  code  for  a  min- 
ute, Jack,  and  let  us  know  what  he  thinks  of  our  authori- 
ties," said  Michael,  in  an  undertone. 

"  Come,  Uncle  Tom,"  cried  the  more  hardy  nephew — 
"  come  out  of  your  reserve,  and  face  the  constitution  of 
your  country.  Even  Sarah  can  see  that,  for  once,  we  are 
right,  and  that  my  toast  is  of  proof." 

"  It  is  a  very  good  proof-s/ieet,  Jack,  not  only  of  your 
own  mind,  but  of  half  the  minds  in  the  country.  Ranker 
nonsense  cannot,  be  uttered,  however,  than  to  say  that  the 
Constitution  of  the  United  States  is  the  palladium  of  any- 
thing in  which  civil  or  religious  liberty  is  concerned." 

"  You  do  not  dispute  the  fidelity  of  my  quotation,  sir  ?  " 

"By  no  means.  The  clause  you  read  is  a  very  useless 
exhibition  of  certain  facts  that  existed  just  as  distinctly  be- 
fore it  was  framed,  as  they  do  to-day.  Congress  had  no 
power  to  make  an  established  religion,  or  abridge  the  free- 
dom of  speech,  or  that  of  the  press,  or  the  right  of  the 
people  to  petition,  before  that  amendment  was  introduced, 
and  consequently  the  clause  itself  is  supererogatory.  You 
take  nothing  by  your  motion,  Jack." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  sir.  To  me,  it  seems  that  I 
have  the  best  of  it." 

"  Congress  has  no  power  but  what  has  been  conceded  to 
it  directly,  or  by  necessary  connection.  Now  there  hap- 


THE   IVAYS   OF   THE*  HOUR,  13 

pens  to  be  nothing  said  about  granting  any  such  authority 
to  Congress,  and  consequently  the  prohibition  is  not 
necessary.  But,  admitting  that  Congress  did  really  pos- 
sess the  power  to  establish  a  religion  previously  to  the 
adoption  of  this  amendment,  the  constitution  would  not 
prove  a  palladium  to  religious  liberty,  unless  it  prohibited 
everybody  else  from  meddling  with  the  opinions  of  the 
citizen.  Any  State  of  this  Union  that  pleases,  may  estab- 
lish a  religion,  and  compel  its  citizens  to  support  it." 

"  Why,  sir,  but  our  own  State  constitution  has  a  provision 
similar  to  this,  to  prevent  it." 

"  Very  true,  but  our  own  State  constitution  can  be  al- 
tered in  this  behalf,  without  asking  permission  of  any  one 
but  our  own  people.  I  think  that  even  Sarah  will  under- 
stand that  the  United  States  is  no  palladium  of  religious  lib- 
erty, if  it  cannot  prevent  a  State  from  establishing  Moham- 
medanism, as  soon  as  a  few  forms  can  be  complied  with." 

Sarah  colored,  glanced  timidly  at  Michael  Millington, 
but  made  no  reply.  She  did  not  understand  much  of  what 
she  had  just  heard,  though  rather  an  intelligent  girl,  but 
had  hoped  that  Jack  and  his  friend  were  nearer  right  than 
was  likely  to  turn  out  to  be  the  case.  Jack,  himself,  being 
a  young  limb  of  the  law,  comprehended  what  his  uncle 
meant,  and  had  the  grace  to  color,  too,  at  the  manner  in 
which  he  had  manifested  his  ignorance  of  the  great  national 
compact.  With  a  view  to  relieve  himself  from  his  dilem- 
ma, he  cried,  with  a  ready  dexterity — 

"  Well,  since  this  won't  do,  I  must  try  the  jury.  '  The 
trial  by  jury,  the  palladium  of  our  liberties.'  How  do  you 
like  that,  sir  ?  " 

"  Worse  than  the  other,  boy.  God  protect  the  country 
that  has  no  better  shield  against  wrong  than  that  which  a 
jury  can  hold  before  it." 

Jack  looked  at  Michael,  and  Michael  looked  at  Jack  ; 
while  Sarah  looked  at  both  in  turn. 

"You  surely  will  not  deny,  sir,  that  the  trial  by  jury  is 
one  of  the  most  precious  of  the  gifts  received  from  our  an- 
cestors ?  "  said  the  first,  a  little  categorically,  Sarah  bright- 
ening up  at  this  question,  as  if  she  fancied  that  her  brother 
had  now  got  on  solid  ground. 

"Your  question  cannot  be  answered  in  a  breath,  Jack," 
returned  the  uncle.  "The  trial  by  jury  was  undoubtedly 
a  most  precious  boon  bestowed  on  a  people  among  whom 
there  existed  an  hereditary  ruling  power,  on  the  abuses  of 
which  it  was  often  a  most  salutary  check." 


14  THE   H*AYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

"  Well,  sir,  is  it  not  the  same  check  here,  assuring  to  the 
citizens  independent  justice  ?" 

"  Who  compose  the  ruling  power  in  America,  Jack  ? " 

"  The  people,  to  be  sure,  sir." 

"  And  who  the  jurors  ?  " 

"  The  people,  too,  I  suppose,"  answered  the  nephew, 
hesitating  a  little  before  he  replied. 

"  Well,  let  us  suppose  a  citizen  has  a  conflict  of  rights 
with  the  public,  which  is  the  government,  who  will  com- 
pose the  tribunal  that  is  to  decide  the  question  ?  " 

"A  jury,  to  be  sure,  sir.  The  trial  by  jury  is  guaran- 
teed by  the  constitution  to  us  all." 

"  Ay,"  said  Mr.  Dunscomb,  smiling,  "much  as  are  our 
religious  and  political  liberties.  But  according  to  your 
own  admission,  this  is  very  much  like  making  one  of  the 
parties  a  judge  in  his  own  case.  A  insists  that  he  has  a 
right  to  certain  lands,  for  instance,  which  the  public  claims 
for  itself.  In  such  a  case,  part  of  the  public  compose  the 
tribunal." 

"  But  is  it  not  true,  Mr.  Dunscomb,"  put  in  Millington, 
"  that  the  popular  prejudice  is  usually  against  government, 
in  all  cases  with  private  citizens  ? " 

Sarah's  face  looked  brighter  now  than  ever,  for  she  felt 
sure  that  Mike,  as  her  brother  familiarly  called  his  friend, 
had  asked  a  most  apposite  question. 

"  Certainly  ;  you  are  right  as  to  particular  sets  of  cases, 
but  wrong  as  to  others.  In  a  commercial  town  like  this, 
the  feeling  is  against  government  in  all  cases  connected 
with  the  collection  of  the  revenue,  I  admit ;  and  you  will 
see  that  the  fact  makes  against  the  trial  by  jury  in  another 
form,  since  a  judge  ought  to  be  strictly  impartial  ;  above 
all  prejudice  whatever." 

"But,  uncle,  a  judge  and  a  jury  are  surely  very  different 
tilings,"  cried  Sarah,  secretly  impelled  to  come  to  Michael's 
rescue,  though  she  scarce  knew  anything  of  the  merits  of 
the  subject. 

"  Quite  right,  my  dear,"  the  uncle  answered,  nodding 
his  head  kindly,  casting  a  glance  at  his  niece  that  caused 
her  to  blush  under  the  consciousness  of  being  fully  under- 
stood in  her  motives,  if  not  in  her  remark.  "  Most  pro- 
foundly right  ;  a  judge  and  a  juror  ought  to  be  very  differ- 
ent things.  What  I  most  complain  of  is  the  fact  that  the 
jurors  are  fast  becoming  judges.  Nay,  by  George,  they 
are  getting  to  be  legislators,  making  the  law  as  well  as  in- 
terpreting it.  How  often  does  it  happen,  nowadays,  that 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE  HOUR.  15 

» 

the  court  tell  the  jury  that  such  is  the  law,  and  the  jury 
comes  in  with  a  verdict  which  tells  the  court  that  such  is 
not  the  law  ?  This  is  an  every-day  occurrence,  in  the  actual 
state  of  public  opinion." 

"  But  the  court  will  order  a  new  trial,  if  the  verdict  is 
against  law  and  evidence,"  said  Michael,  determined  that 
Sarah  should  be  sustained. 

"  Ay,  and  another  jury  will  be  quite  likely  to  sustain  the 
old  one.  No — no — the  trial  by  jury  is  no  more  a  palla- 
dium of  our  liberties  than  the  constitution  of  the  United 
States." 

"  Who,  or  what  is,  then,  sir  ? "  demanded  Jack. 

"  God  !  Yes,  the  Deity,  in  his  Divine  Providence  ;  if  any- 
thing is  to  save  us.  It  may  not  be  his  pleasure  to  let  us 
perish,  for  it  would  seem  that  some  great  plan  for  the  ad- 
vancement of  civilization  is  going  on,  and  it  may  be  a  part 
of  it  to  make  us  important  agents.  All  things  regarded, 
I  am  much  inclined  to  believe  such  is  the  fact.  But,  did 
the  result  depend  on  us,  miserable  instruments  in  the  all- 
mighty  hands  as  we  are,  woful  would  be  the  end  ! " 

"  You  do  not  look  at  things  cmileur  de  rose,  Uncle  Tom," 
Sarah  smilingly  observed. 

"  Because  I  am  not  a  young  lady  of  twenty,  who  is  well 
satisfied  with  herself  and  her  advantages.  There  is  but 
one  character  for  which  I  have  a  greater  contempt  than 
that  of  a  senseless  grumbler,  who  regards  all  things  a  tort 
et  a  travers,  and  who  cries,  there  is  nothing  good  in  the 
world." 

"And  what  is  the  exception,  sir?" 

"The  man  who  is  puffed  up  with  conceit  and  fancies 
all  around  him  perfection,  when  so  much  of  it  is  the  re- 
verse; who  ever  shouts  *  Liberty,'  in  the  midst  of  the  direst 
oppression." 

"But  direst  oppression  is  certainly  no  term  to  be  ap- 
plied to  anything  in  New  York  !  " 

"  You  think  not  ?  What  would  you  say  to  a  state  of  so- 
ciety in  which  the  law  is  available  to  one  class  of  citizens 
only,  in  the  way  of  compulsion,  and  not  at  air,  in  the  way 
of  protection  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  sir  ;  here,  it  is  our  boast  that 
all  are  protected  alike." 

"Ay,  so  far  as  boasting  goes,  we  are  beyond  reproach. 
But  what  are  the  facts  ?  Here  is  a  man  that  owes  money. 
The  law  is  appealed  to,  to  compel  payment.  Verdict  is 
rendered,  and  execution  issued.  The  sheriff  enters  his 


16  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

house,  and  sells  his  very  furniture,  to  extort  the  amount 
of  the  debt  from  him." 

"  That  is  his  misfortune,  sir.  Such  things  must  happen 
to  all  debtors  who  cannot,  or  will  not,  pay." 

"If  this  were  true,  I  should  have  nothing  to  say.  Im- 
agine this  very  debtor  to  be  also  a  creditor  ;  to  have  debts 
due  to  him,  of  many  times  the  sums  that  he  owes,  but 
which  the  law  will  not  aid  him  in  collecting.  For  him  the 
law  is  all  oppression— no  protection." 

"  But,  surely,  Uncle  Tom,  nothing  of  the  sort  exists 
here  !  " 

"  Surely,  Miss  Sarah  Wilmeter,  such  things  do  exist 
here  in  practice,  whatever  may  be  the  theory  on  the  sub- 
ject ;  what  is  more,  they  exist  under  the  influence  of  facts 
that  are  directly  connected  with  the  working  of  the  insti- 
tutions. My  case  is  not  suppositious  at  all,  but  real. 
Several  landlords  have  quite  recently  felt  all  the  rigors  of 
the  law  as  debtors,  when  it  was  a  dead  letter  to  them,  in 
their  character  of  creditors.  This  has  actually  happened, 
and  that  more  than  once  ;  and  it  might  happen  a  hundred 
times,  were  the  landlords  more  in  debt.  In  the  latter  ca^e 
it  would  be  an  every-day  occurrence." 

"  What,  sir,"  exclaimed  Michael  Millington  ;  "the  law 
enforce,  when  it  will  not  protect  ?" 

"That  it  does,  young  man,  in  many  interests  that  I 
could  point  out  to  you.  But  here  is  as  flagrant  a  case  of 
unmitigated  tyranny  as  can  be  cited  against  any  country 
in  Christendom.  A  citizen  is  sold  out  of  house  and  home, 
under  process  of  law,  for  debt  ;  and  when  he  asks  for  the 
use  of  the  same  process  of  law  to  collect  his  undeniable 
dues,  it  is,  in  effect,  denied  him.  And  this  among  the  peo- 
ple who  boast  that  their  independence  is  derived  from  a 
spirit  that  would  not  be  taxed !  A  people  who  are  hourly 
shouting  hosannas  in  honor  of  their  justice  !  " 

"  It  cannot  be,  Uncle  Tom,  that  this  is  done,  in  terms," 
cried  the  astounded  nephew. 

"  If,  by  terms,  you  mean  professions  of  justice,  and  lib- 
erty, and  equal  rights,  they  are  fair  enough  ;  in  all  those 
particulars  we  are  irreproachable.  As  'professors^  no  peo- 
ple can  talk  more  volubly  or  nearer  to  the  point — I  allude 
only  to  facts." 

"  But  these  facts  maybe  explained — qualified — are  not 
as  flagrant  as  they  seem  under  your  statement  ?" 

"  In  what  manner?" 

"  Why,  sir,  this  is  but  a  temporary  evil,  perhaps." 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  1} 

"  It  has  lasted  not  days,  nor  weeks,  nor  months,  but 
years.  What  is  more,  it  is  an  evil  that  has  not  occurred 
in  a  corner,  where  it  might  be  overlooked  ;  but  it  exists 
within  ten  miles  of  your  capital,  in  plain  sight  of  your 
legislators,  and  owes  its  impunity  solely  to  their  profound 
deference  to  votes.  In  a  word,  it  is  a  part  of  the  political 
system  under  which  we  live  ;  and  that  far  more  so  than 
any  disposition  to  tyranny  that  might  happen  to  manifest 
itself  in  an  individual  king." 

"  Do  not  the  tenants  who  refuse  to  pay  fancy  that  their 
landlords  have  no  right  to  their  estates,  and  does  not  the 
whole  difficulty  arise  from  misapprehension  ?"  asked  Mi 
chael,  a  little  timidly. 

"  What  would  that  have  to  do  with  the  service  of  proc- 
ess, if  it  were  true  ?  When  a  sheriff's  officer  comes 
among  these  men,  they  take  his  authority  from  him,  and 
send  him  away  empty.  Rights  are  to  be  determined  only 
by  the  law,  since  they  are  derived  from  the  law  ;  and  he 
who  meets  the  law  at  the  threshold,  and  denies  it  entrance, 
can  never  seriously  pretend  that  he  resists  because  the 
other  party  has  no  claims.  No,  no,  young  gentleman — 
this  is  all  a  fetch.  The  evil  is  of  years'  standing  ;  it  is  of 
the  character  of  the  direst  oppression,  and  of  oppression 
of  the  worst  sort,  that  of  many  oppressing  a  few ;  cases  in 
which  the  sufferer  is  cut  off  from  sympathy,  as  you  can 
see  by  the  apathy  of  the  community,  which  is  singing 
hosannas  to  its  own  perfection,  while  this  great  wrong  is 
committed  under  its  very  nose.  Had  a  landlord  oppressed 
his  tenants,  their  clamor  would  have  made  itself  heard 
throughout  the  land.  The  worst  feature  in  the  case  is 
that  which  connects  the  whole  thing  so  very  obviously 
with  the  ordinary  working  of  the  institutions.  If  it  were 
merely  human  covetousness  struggling  against  the  institu- 
tions, the  last  might  prove  the  strongest  ;  but  it  is  cupidity 
of  the  basest  and  most  transparent  nature,  using  the  insti- 
tutions themselves  to  effect  its  purpose." 

"  I  am  surprised  that  something  was  not  done  by  the  last 
convention  to  meet  the  evil  ! "  said  Jack,  who  was  much 
struck  with  the  enormity  of  the  wrong,  placed  before  his 
eyes  in  its  simplest  form,  as  it  had  been  by  his  direct- 
minded  and  clear-headed  kinsman. 

"  That  is  because  you  do  not  know  what  a  convention 
has  got  to  be.  Its  object  is  to  push  principles  into  im- 
practicable extremes,  under  the  silly  pretension  of  prog- 
ress, and  not  to  abate  evils.  I  made  a  suggestion  myself 

2 


1 8  THE  WAYS    OF   THE  HOUR. 

to  certain  members  of  that  convention,  which,  in  my  poor 
judgment,  would  have  effectually  cured  this  disease  ;  but 
no  member  had  the  courage  to  propose  it.  Doubtless  it 
would  have  been  useless  had  it  been  otherwise." 

"  It  was  worth  the  trial,  if  such  were  likely  to  be  the  re- 
sult. What  was  your  plan,  sir  ?  " 

"  Simply  to  disfranchise  any  district  in  which  the  law 
could  not  be  enforced  by  means  of  combinations  of  its 
people.  On  application  to  the  highest  court  in  the  State, 
an  order  might  be  granted  that  no  polls  should  be  held  in 
one  or  more  towns  or  counties,  in  which  combinations  ex- 
isted of  a  force  sufficient  to  prevent  the  laws  from  being 
put  in  force.  Nothing  could  be  more  just  than  to  say  that 
men  who  will  not  obey  the  law  shall  not  have  a  voice  in 
making  it,  and  to  me  it  really  seems  that  some  such  pro- 
vision would  be  the  best  possible  expedient  to  check  this 
growing  evil.  It  would  be  choking  the  enemy  with  his 
own  food." 

"  Why  was  it  not  done,  sir  ?  " 

"Simply  because  our  sages  were  speculating  on  votes, 
and  not  on  principles.  They  will  talk  to  you  like  so 
many  books  touching  the  vices  of  all  foreign  systems, 
but  are  ready  to  die  in  defence  of  the  perfection  of  their 
own." 

"  Why  was  it  necessary  to  make  a  new  constitution  the 
other  day,"  asked  Sarah,  innocently,  "if  the  old  one  was 
so  very  excellent  ?  " 

"  Sure  enough — the  answer  might  puzzle  wiser  heads 
than  yours,  child.  Perfection  requires  a  great  deal  of 
tinkering  in  this  country.  We  scarcely  adopt  one  plan 
that  shall  secure  everybody's  rights  and  liberties,  than  an- 
other is  broached  to  secure  some  newly-discovered  rights 
and  liberties.  With  the  dire  example  before  them,  of  the 
manner  in  which  the  elective  franchise  is  abused,  in  this 
anti-rent  movement,  the  sages  of  the  land  have  just  given 
to  the  mass  the  election  of  judges — as  beautiful  a  scheme 
for  making  the  bench  coalesce  with  the  jury-box  as  human 
ingenuity  could  invent !  " 

As  all  present  knew  that  Mr.  Dunscomb  was  bitterly 
opposed  to  the  new  constitution,  no  one  was  surprised  at 
this  last  assertion.  It  did  create  wonder,  however,  in  the 
minds  of  all  three  of  the  ingenuous  young  persons,  when 
the  fact — an  undeniable  and  most  crushing  one  it  is,  too, 
so  far  as  any  high  pretension  to  true  liberty  is  concerned — 
was  plainly  laid  before  them,  that  citizens  were  to  be  found 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE  HOUR.  ig 

in  New  York  against  whom  the  law  was  rigidly  enforced, 
while  it  was  powerless  in  their  behalf.  We  have  never  known 
this  aspect  of  the  case  presented  to  any  mind,  that  it  did 
not  evidently  produce  a  deep  impression,  for  the  moment ; 
but,  alas  !  "  what  is  everybody's  business  is  nobody's  busi- 
ness," and  few  care  for  the  violation  of  a  principle  when 
the  wrong  does  not  affect  themselves.  These  young  folk 
were,  like  all  around  them,  unconscious  even  that  they 
dwelt  in  a  community  in  which  so  atrocious  a  wrong  was 
daily  done,  and,  for  the  moment,  were  startled  when  the 
truth  was  placed  before  their  eyes.  The  young  men,  near 
friends,  and,  by  certain  signs,  likely  to  be  even  more  close- 
ly united,  were  much  addicted  to  speculating  on  the  course 
of  events,  as  they  perceived  them  to  be  tending  in  other 
countries.  Michael  Millington,  in  particular,  was  a  good 
deal  of  a  general  politician,  having  delivered  several  ora- 
tions, in  which  he  had  laid  some  stress  on  the  greater  hap- 
piness of  the  people  of  this  much  favored  land  over  those 
of  all  other  countries,  and  especially  on  the  subject  of 
equal  rights.  He  was  too  young,  yet,  to  have  learned  the 
wholesome  truth,  that  equality  of  rights,  in  practice,  exists 
nowhere  ;  the  ingenuity  and  selfishness  of  man  finding  the 
means  to  pervert  to  narrow  purposes  the  most  cautious 
laws  that  have  ever  been  adopted  in  furtherance  of  a  prin- 
ciple that  would  seem  to  be  so  just  Nor  did  he  know  that 
the  Bible  contains  all  the  wisdom  and  justice,  transmitted 
as  divine  precepts,  that  are  necessary  to  secure  to  every 
man  all  that  it  is  desirable  to  possess  here  below. 

The  conversation  was  terminated  by  the  entrance  of  a 
fourth  colloquist,  in  the  person  of  Edward  McBrain,  M.D., 
who  was  not  only  the  family  physician,  but  the  bosom 
friend  of  the  lawyer.  The  two  liked  each  other  on  the 
principle  of  loving  their  opposites.  One  was  a  bachelor, 
the  other  was  about  to  marry  his  third  wife  ;  one  was  a  lit- 
tle of  a  cynic,  the  other  much  of  a  philanthropist  ;  one 
distrustful  of  human  nature,  the  other  too  confiding  ;  one 
cautious  to  excess,  the  'other  absolutely  impetuous,  when- 
ever anything  strongly  interested  his  feelings.  They  were 
alike  in  being  Manhattanese  by  birth,  somewhat  a  novelty 
in  a  New  Yorker  ;  in  being  equally  graduates  of  Columbia, 
and  classmates  ;  in  a  real  love  of  their  fellow-creatures  ;  in 
goodness  of  heart  and  in  integrity.  Had  either  been  want- 
ing in  these  last  great  essentials,  the  other  could  not  nave 
endured  him. 


20  THE   W 'AYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 


CHAPTER   II. 

O  change  !  stupendous  change  ! 

There  lies  the  soulless  clod  ; 
The  sun  eternal  breaks — 
The  new  immortal  wakes — 

Wakes  with  his  God. — MRS.  SOUTHEY. 

As  Dr.  McBrain  entered  the  room,  the  two  young  men 
and  Sarah,  after  saluting  him  like  very  familiar  acquaint- 
ances, passed  out  into  what  the  niece  called  her  "garden." 
Here  she  immediately  set  her  scissors  at  work  in  clipping 
roses,  violets,  and  other  early  flowers,  to  make  bouquets 
for  her  companions.  That  of  Michael  was  much  the  largest 
and  most  tasteful  ;  but  this  her  brother  did  not  remark, 
as  he  was  in  a  brown  study,  reflecting  on  the  singularity  of 
the  circumstance  that  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States 
should  not  be  the  "  palladium  of  his  political  and  religious 
liberties."  Jack  saw,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  that  a 
true  knowledge  of  the  constitution  was  not  to  be  found 
floating  about  in  society,  and  that  "  there  was  more  in  the 
nature  of  the  great  national  compact  than  was  dreamed  of 
in  his  philosophy." 

"Well,  Ned,"  said  the  lawyer,  holding  out  his  hand 
kindly,  but  not  rising  from  his  chair,  "  what  has  brought 
you  here  so  early  ?  Has  old  Martha  spoiled  your  tea  ? " 

"  Not  at  all  ;  I  have  paid  this  visit,  as  it  might  be,  pro- 
fessionally." 

"  Professionally  !  I  never  was  better  in  my  life  ;  and  set 
you  down  as  a  false  prophet,  or  no  doctor,  if  you  like  that 
better,  for  the  gout  has  not  even  given  a  premonitory  hint, 
this  spring;. and  I  hope,  now  I  have  given  up  Sauterne 
altogether,  and  take  but  four  glasses  of  Madeira  at  din- 
ner   " 

"Two  too  many." 

"I'll  engage  to  drink  nothing  but  sherry,  Ned,  if  you'll 
consent  to  four,  and  that  without  any  of  those  forbidding 
looks." 

"  Agreed  ;  sherry  has  less  acidity,  and  consequently  less 
gout,  than  Madeira.  But  my  business  here  this  morning, 
though  professional,  does  not  relate  to  my  craft,  but  to 
your  own." 

"  To  the  law  ?    Now  I  take  another  look  at  you,  I  do  see 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE  HO  UK.  21 

trouble  in  your  physiognomy  ;  am  I  not  to  draw  the  mar- 
riage settlements,  after  all  ?" 

"  There  are  to  be  none.  The  new  law  gives  a  woman  the 
entire  control  of  all  her  property,  they  tell  me,  and  I  sup- 
pose she  will  not  expect  the  control  of  mine." 

"  Umph  !  Yes,  she  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  things  as 
they  are,  for  she  will  remain  mistress  of  all  her  cups  and 
saucers,  even — ay,  and  of  her  houses  and  lands  in  the  bar- 
gain. Hang  me,  if  I  would  ever  marry,  when  the  contract 
is  so  one-sided." 

"You  never  did,  when  the  contract  was  t'other  sided. 
For  my  part,  Tom,  I'm  disposed  to  leave  a  woman  mistress 
of  her  own.  The  experiment  is  worth  the  trial,  if  it  be 
only  to  see  the  use  she  will  make  of  her  money." 

"  You  are  always  experimenting  among  the  women,  and 
are  about  to  try  a  third  wife.  Thank  Heaven,  I've  got  on 
sixty  years  quite  comfortably,  without  even  one." 

"  You  have  only  half  lived  your  life.  No  old  bachelor — 
meaning  a  man  after  forty — knows  anything  of  real  happi- 
ness. It  is  necessary  to  be  married,  in  order  to  be  truly 
happy." 

"I  wonder  you  did  not  add,  'two  or  three  times.'  But 
'you  may  make  this  new  contract  with  greater  confidence 
than  either  of  the  others.  I  suppose  you  have  seen  this 
new  divorce  project  that  is,  or  lias  been,  before  the  legis- 
lature ? " 

"  Divorce  !  I  trust  no  such  foolish  law  will  pass.  This 
calling  marriage  a  *  contract,'  too,  is  what  I  never  liked. 
It  is  something  far  more  than  a  '  contract,'  in  my  view  of 
the  matter." 

"  Still,  that  is  what  the  law  considers  it  to  be.  Get  out 
of  this  new  scrape,  Ned,  if  you  can  with  any  honor,  and 
remain  an  independent  freeman  for  the  rest  of  your  days. 
I  dare  say  the  widow  could  soon  find  some  other  amorous 
youth  to  place  her  affections  on.  It  matters  not  much 
whom  a  woman  loves,  provided  she  love.  Of  this  I'm  cer- 
tain, from  seeing  the  sort  of  animals  so  many  do  love." 

"  Nonsense  ;  a  bachelor  talking  of  love,  or  matrimony, 
usually  makes  a  zany  of  himself.  It  is  -terra  incognita  to 
you,  my  boy,  and  the  less  you  say  about  it  the  better.  You 
are  the  only  human  being,  Tom,  I  ever  met  with,  who  has 
not,  some  time  or  other,  been  in  love.  I  really  believe  you 
never  knew  what  the  passion  is." 

"  I-  fell  in  love,  early  in  life,  with  a  certain  my  lord  Coke, 
and  have  remained  true  to  my  first  attachment  Besides, 


22  THE   WA  YS   OF   THE   HOUR, 

I  saw  I  had  an  intimate  friend  who  would  do  all  the  mar- 
rying  that  was  necessary  for  two,  or  even  for  three  ;  so  I 
determined,  from  the  first,  to  remain  single.  A  man  has 
only  to  be  firm,  and  he  may  set  Cupid  at  defiance.  It  is 
not  so  with  women,  I  do  believe  ;  it  is  part  of  their  nature 
to  love,  else  would  no  woman  admire  you,  at  your  time  of 
life." 

"I  don't  know  that — I  am  by  no  means  sure  of  that. 
Each  time  I  had  the  misfortune  to  become  a  widower  I 
was  just  as  determined  to  pass  the  remainder  of  my  days 
in  reflecting  on  the  worth  of  her  I  had  lost,  as  you  can  be 
to  remain  a  bachelor ;  but  somehow  or  other,  I  don't  pre 
tend  to  account  for  it,  not  a  year  passed  before  I  have 
found  inducements  to  enter  info  new  engagements.  It  is 
a  blessed  thing,  is  matrimony,  and  I  am  resolved  not  to 
continue  single  an  hour  longer  than  is  necessary." 

Dunscomb  laughed  out  at  the  earnest  manner  in  which 
his  friend  spoke,  though  conversations  like  this  we  have 
been  relating  were  of  frequent  occurrence  between  them. 

"The  same  old  sixpence,  Ned  !  A  Benedict  as  a  boy,  a 
Benedict  as  a  man,  and  a  Benedict  as  a  dotard  - 

"  Dotard  !     My  good  fellow,  let  me  tell  you  - 

"  Poh  !  I  don't  desire  to  hear  it.  But  as  you  came  on 
business  connected  with  the  law,  and  that  business  is  not  a 
marriage  settlement,  what  is  it  ?  Does  old  Kingsborough 
maintain  his  right  to  the  Harlem  lot  ?" 

"No,  he  has  given  the  claim  up  at  last.  My  business, 
Tom,  is  of  a  very  different  nature.  What  are  we  coming 
to,  and  what  is  to  be  the  end  of  it  all  ? " 

As  the  doctor  looked  far  more  than  he  expressed,  Duns- 
comb  was  struck  with  his  manner.  The  Siamese  twins 
scarce  understand  each  other's  impulses  and  wishes  better 
than  these  two  men  comprehended  each  other's  feelings  ; 
and  Tom  saw  at  once  that  Ned  was  now  very  much  in 
earnest. 

"Coming  to?"  repeated  Dunscomb.  "Do  you  mean 
the  new  code,  or  the  *  Woman-hold-the-Purse-Law,'  as  I 
call  it  ?  I  don't  believe  you  look  far  enough  ahead  to 
foresee  all  the  damnable  consequences  of  an  elective 
judiciary." 

"  It  is  not  that — this  or  that — I  do  not  mean  codes,  con- 
stitutions, or  pin  money.  What  is  the  country  coming  to, 
Tom  Dunscomb — that  is  the  question,  I  ask  ?" 

"  Well,  and  has  the  country  nothing  to  do  with  constitu- 
tions, codes,  and  elective  judges  ?  I  can  tell  you,  Master 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  23 

Ned  McBrain,  M.D.,  that  if  the  patient  is  to  be  saved  at 
all,  it  must  be  by  means  of  the  judiciary,  and  I  do  not 
like  the  advice  that  has  just  been  called  in." 

"  You  are  a  croaker.  They  tell  me  the  new  judges  are 
reasonably  good." 

"  '  Reasonably '  is  an  expressive  word.  The  new  judges 
are  0A/ judges,  in  part,  and  in  so  much  they  do  pretty  well, 
by  chance.  Some  of  the  new  judges  are  excellent — but 
one  of  the  very  best  men  on  the  whole  bench  was  run 
against  one  of  the  worst  men  who  could  have  been  put  in 
his  place.  At  the  next  heat  I  fear  the  bad  fellow  will  get 
the  track.  If  you  do  not  mean  what  I  have  mentioned, 
what  do  you  mean  ? " 

"I  mean  the  increase  of  crime — the  murders,  arsons, 
robberies,  and  other  abominations  that  seem  to  take  root 
among  us,  like  so  many  exotics  transplanted  to  a  genial 
soil." 

"  '  Exotics '  and  '  genial '  be  hanged  !  Men  are  alike 
everywhere.  No  one  but  a  fool  ever  supposed  that  a  re- 
public is  to  stand,  or  fall,  by  its  virtue." 

"Yet,  the  common  opinion  is  that  such  must  be  the  final 
test  of  our  institutions." 

"  Jack  has  just  been  talking  nonsense  on  this  subject, 
and  now  j0«  must  come  to  aid  him.  But,  what  has  your 
business  with  me,  this  morning,  to  do  with  the  general 
depreciation  in  morals?" 

"A  great  deal,  as  you  will  allow,  when  you  come  to 
hear  my  story." 

Dr.  McBrain  then  proceeded  forthwith  to  deliver  him- 
self of  the  matter  which  weighed  so  heavily  on  his  mind. 
He  was  the  owner  of  a  small  place  in  an  adjoining 
county,  where  it  was  his  custom  to  pass  as  much  time,  dur- 
ing the  pleasant  months,  as  a  very  extensive  practice  in 
town  would  allow.  This  was  not  much,  it  is  true,  though 
the  worthy  physician  so  contrived  matters,  that  his  visits 
to  Timbully,  as  the  place  was  called,  if  not  long,  were  tol- 
erably numerous.  A  kind-hearted,  as  well  as  a  reasonably- 
affluent  man,  he  never  denied  his  professional  services  to 
country  neighbors,  who  eagerly  asked  his  advice  whenever 
there  was  need  of  it.  This  portion  of  the  doctor's  practice 
flourished  on  two  accounts — one  being  his  known  skill, 
and  the  other  his  known  generosity.  In  a  word,  Dr.  Mc- 
Brain never  received  any  compensation  for  his  advice 
from  any  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  his  country 
residence.  This  rendered  him  exceedingly  popular  ;  and 


24  THE  WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

he  might  have  been  sent  to  Albany,  but  for  a  little 
cold  water  that  was  thrown  on  the  project  by  a  shrewd 
patriot,  who  suggested  that  while  the  physician  was  attend* 
ing  to  affairs  of  state  he  could  not  be  administering  to  the 
ailings  of  his  Timbuliy  neighbors.  This  may  have  checked 
the  doctor's  advancement,  but  it  did  not  impair  his  popu- 
larity. 

Now,  it  happened  that  the  bridegroom-expectant  had 
been  out  to  Timbuliy,  a  distance  of  less  than  fifteen  miles 
from  his  house  in  Bleecker  Street,  with  a  view  to  order 
matters  for  the  reception  of  the  bride,  it  being  the  inten- 
tion of  the  couple  that  were  soon  to  be  united  to  pass  a 
few  days  there,  immediately  after  the  ceremony  was  per- 
formed. It  was  while  at  his  place,  attending  to  this  most 
important  duty,  that  an  express  came  from  the  county- 
town,  requiring  his  presence  before  the  coroner,  where  he 
was  expected  to  give  his  evidence  as  a  medical  man.  It 
seems  that  a  house  had  been  burned,  and  its  owners,  an 
aged  couple,  had  been  burned  in  it.  The  remains  of  the 
bodies  had  been  found,  and  an  inquest  was  about  to  be 
held  on  them.  This  was  pretty  much  all  that  the  messen- 
ger could  tell,  though  he  rather  thought  that  it  was  sus- 
pected the  house  had  been  set  on  fire,  and  the  old  people, 
consequently,  murdered. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  Dr.  McBrain  obeyed  the  sum- 
mons. A  county  town,  in  America,  is  often  little  more 
than  a  hamlet,  though  in  New  York  they  are  usually  places 
of  some  greater  pretensions.  The  State  has  now  near  a 
dozen  incorporated  cities,  with  their  mayors  and  aldermen, 
and,  with  one  exception,  we  believe  these  are  all  county 
towns.  Then  come  the  incorporated  villages,  in  which 
New  York  is  fast  getting  to  be  rich  ;  places  containing  from 
one  to  six  or  seven  thousand  souls,  and  which,  as  a  rule, 
are  steadily  growing  into  respectable  provincial  towns. 
The  largest  of  these  usually  contain  "  the  county  build- 
ings," as  it  is  the  custom  to  express  it.  But,  in  the  older 
counties,  immediately  around  the  great  commercial  capital 
of  the  entire  republic,  these  large  villages  do  not  always 
exist  ;  or,  when  they  do  exist,  are  not  sufficiently  central 
to  meet  the  transcendental  justice  of  democratic  equality 
— a  quality  that  is  sometimes  of  as  exacting  pretension  as 
of  real  imbecility  ;  as  witness  the  remarks  of  Mr.  Duns- 
comb,  in  our  opening  chapter. 

The  county  buildings  of happen  to  stand  in  a  small 

village,  or  what  is  considered  a  small  village,  in  the  lower 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR,  25 

part  of  the  State.  As  the  events  of  this  tale  are  so  recent, 
and  the  localities  so  familiar  to  many  persons,  we  choose 
to  call  this  village  "Biberry,"  and  the  county  "Dukes." 
Such  was  once  the  name  of  a  New  York  county,  though 
the  appellation  has  been  dropped,  and  this  not  from  any 
particular  distaste  for  the  strawberry  leaves  ;  "  Kings," 
"  Queens,"  and  "  Duchess  "  having  been  wisely  retained— 
wisely,  as  names  should  be  as  rarely  changed  as  public 
convenience  will  allow. 

Dr.  McBrain  found  the  village  of  Biberry  in  a  high  state 
of  excitement ;  one,  indeed,  of  so  intense  a  nature  as  to  be 
far  from  favorable  to  the  judicial  inquiry  that  was  then 
going  on  in  the  court-house.  The  old  couple  who  were 
the  sufferers  in  this  affair  had  been  much  respected  by  all 
who  knew  them  ;  he  as  a  commonplace,  well-meaning  man, 
of  no  particular  capacity,  and  she  a's  a  managing,  discreet, 
pious  woman,  whose  greatest  failing  was  a  neatness  that 
was  carried  somewhat  too  near  to  ferocity.  Nevertheless, 
Mrs.  Goodwin  was,  generally,  even  more  respected  than 
her  husband,  for  she  had  the  most  mind,  transacted  most 
of  the  business  of  the  family,  and  was  habitually  kind  and 
attentive  to  every  one  who  entered  her  dwelling  ;  provided, 
always,  that  they  wiped  their  feet  on  her  mats,  of  which  it 
was  necessary  to  pass  no  less'  than  six  before  the  little 
parlor  was  reached,  and  did  not  spit  on  her  carpet,  or  did 
not  want  any  of  her  money.  This  popularity  added  greatly 
to  the  excitement :  men,  and  women  also,  commonly  feel- 
ing a  stronger  desire  to  investigate  wrongs  done  to  those 
they  esteem,  than  to  investigate  wrongs  done  to  those  con- 
cerning whom  they  are  indifferent. 

Dr.  McBrain  found  the  charred  remains  of  this  unfort- 
unate couple  laid  on  a  table  in  the  court-house,  the  coro- 
ner in  attendance,  and  a  jury  impanelled.  Much  of  the 
evidence  concerning  the  discovery  of  the  fire  had  been 
gone  through  with,  and  was  of  a  very  simple  character. 
Some  one  who  was  stirring  earlier  than  common  had  seen 
the  house  in  a  bright  blaze,  had  given  the  alarm,  and  had 
preceded  the  crowd  from  the  village  on  the  road  to  the 
burning  dwelling.  The  Goodwins  had  resided  in  a  neat, 
retired  cottage,  at  the  distance  of  near  two  miles  from 
Biberry,  though  in  sight  from  the  village  ;  and  by  the 
time  trie  first  man  from  the  latter  reached  the  spot  the 
roof  had  fallen  in,  and  the  materials  were  mostly  con- 
sumed. A  dozen,  or  more,  of  the  nearest  neighbors  were 
collected  around  the  ruins,  and  some  articles  of  household 


26  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

furniture  had  been  saved ;  but,  on  the  whole,  it  was  re« 
garded  as  one  of  the  most  sudden  and  destructive  fires 
ever  known  in  that  part  of  the  country.  When- the  engine 
arrived  from  the  village  it  played  briskly  on  the  fire,  and 
was  the  means  of  soon  reducing  all  within  the  outer  walls, 
which  were  of  stone,  to  a  pile  of  blackened  and  smouldering 
wood.  It  was  owing  to  this  circumstance  that  any  portion 
of  the  remains  of  the  late  owners  of  the  house  had  been 
found,  as  was  done  in  the  manner  thus  described,  in  his 
testimony,  by  Peter  Bacon,  the  person  who  had  first  given 
the  alarm  in  Biberry. 

"As  soon  as  I  ever  seed  it  was  Peter  Goodwin's  house 
that  made  the  light,"  continued  the  intelligent  witness,  in 
the  course  of  his  examination. — "  I  guv'  the  alarm,  and 
started  off  on  the  run,  to  see  what  I  could  do.  By  the 
time  I  got  to  the  top  of  Brudler's  Hill  I  was  fairly  out  of 
breath,  I  can  tell  you,  Mr.  Coroner  and  Gentlemen  of  the 
Jury,  and  so  I  was  obliged  to  pull  up  a  bit.  This  guv'  the 
fire  a  so  much  better  sweep,  and  when  I  reached  the  spot, 
there  was  little  chance  for  doing  much  good.  We  got  out  a 
chest  of  drawers,  and  the  young  woman  who  boarded  with 
the  Goodwins  was  helped  down  out  of  the  window,  and 
most  of  her  clothes,  I  b'lieve,  was  saved,  so  far  as  I  know." 

"  Stop,"  interrupted  the  coroner  ;  "there  was  a  young 
woman  in  the  house,  you  say  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  what  I  call  a  young  woman,  or  a  gal  like  ;  though 
other  some  calls  her  a  young  woman.  Waal,  she  was  got 
out ;  and  her  clothes  was  got  out ;  but  nobody  could  get 
out  the  old  folks.  As  soon  as  the  ingyne  come  up  we 
turned  on  the  water,  and  that  put  out  the  fire  about  the 
quickest.  Arter  that  we  went  to  diggin',  and  soon  found 
what  folks  call  the  remains,  though  to  my  notion  there  is 
little  enough  on  'em  that  is  left." 

'•You  dug  out  the  remains,"  said  the  coroner,  writing; 
"  in  what  state  did  you  find  them  ? " 

"  In  what  I  call  a  pretty  poor  state  ;  much  as  you  see 
'em  there,  on  the  table." 

"  What  has  become  of  the  young  lady  you  have  men- 
tioned?" inquired  the  coroner,  who,  as  a  public  function- 
ary, deemed  it  prudent  to  put  all  of  the  sex  into  the  same 
general  category. 

"  I  can't  tell  you,  squire  ;  I  never  see'd  her  arter  she  was 
got  out  of  the  window." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  she  was  the  hired-girl  of  the  family 
• — or  had  the  lady  no  help  ? " 


THE   WAYS    Or    THE   HO  UK.  27 

"  I  kinder  think  she  was  a  boarder,  like  ;  one  that  paid 
her  keepin',"  answered  the  witness,  who  was  not  a  person 
to  draw  very  nice  distinctions,  as  the  reader  will  have  no 
difficulty  in  conceiving  from  his  dialect.  "  It  seems  to  me 
I  hear'n  tell  of  another  help  in  the  Goodwin  family — a 
sorter  Jarman,  or  Irish  lady." 

"Was  any  such  woman  seen  about  the  house  this  morn- 
ing, when  the  ruins  were  searched  ?  " 

"  Not  as  7'ner.  We  turned  over  the  brands  and  sticks 
until  we  come  across  the  old  folks  ;  then  everybody  seemed 
to  think  the  work  was  pretty  much  done." 

"  In  what  state,  or  situation,  wrere  these  remains  found  ? " 

"  Burnt  to  a  crisp,  just  as  you  see  'em,  squire,  as  I  said 
afore  ;  a  pretty  poor  state  for  human  beings  to  be  in." 

"  But  where  were  they  lying,  and  were  they  near  each 
other?" 

"  Close  together.  Their  heads,  if  a  body  can  call  them 
black-lookin'  skulls  heads,  at  all,  almost  touched,  if  they 
didn't  quite  touch,  each  other ;  their  feet  lay  further 
apart." 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  place  the  skeletons  in  the 
same  manner,  as  respects  each  other,  as  they  were  when 
you  first  saw  them  ?  But  let  me  first  inquire,  if  any  other 
person  is  present,  who  saw  these  remains  before  they  had 
been  removed  ?" 

Several  men,  and  one  or  two  women,  who  were  in  at- 
tendance to  be  examined,  now  came  forward,  and  stated 
that  they  had  seen  the  remains  in  the  condition  in  which 
they  had  been  originally  found.  Selecting  the  most  intel- 
ligent of  the  party,  after  questioning  them  all  round,  the 
coroner  desired  that  the  skeletons  might  be  laid,  as  near 
as  might  be,  in  the  same  relative  positions  as  those  in 
which  they  had  been  found.  There  was  a  difference  of 
opinion  among  the  witnesses,  as  to  several  of  the  minor 
particulars,  though  all  admitted  that  the  bodies,  or  what 
remained  of  them,  had  been  found  quite  close  together; 
their  heads  touching,  and  their  feet  some  little  distance 
apart.  In  this  manner,  then,  were  the  skeletons  now  dis- 
posed ;  the  arrangement  being  completed  just  as  Dr.  McBrain 
entered  the  court-room.  The  coroner  immediately  directed 
the  witnesses  to  stand  aside,  while  the  physician  made  an 
examination  of  the  crisp  bones. 

"  This  looks  like  foul  play ! "  exclaimed  the  doctor,  al- 
most as  soon  as  his  examination  commenced.  "  The  skulls 
of  both  these  persons  have  been  fractured ;  and,  if  this  be 


28  THE   WAYS  OF   THE   HOUR. 

anything  near  the  positions  in  which  the  skeletons  were 
found,  as  it  would  seem,  by  the  same  blow." 

He  then  pointed  out  to  the  coroner  and  jury  a  small 
fracture  in  the  frontal  bone  of  each  skull,  and  so  nearly 
in  a  line  as  to  render  his  conjecture  highly  probable.  This 
discovery  gave  an  entirely  new  coloring  to  the  whole  oc- 
currence, and  everyone  present  began  to  speculate  on  the 
probability  of  arson  and  murder  being  connected  with  the 
unfortunate  affair.  The  Goodwins  were  known  to  have 
lived  at  their  ease,  and  the  good  woman,  in  particular,  had 
the  reputation  of  being  a  little  miserly.  As  everything 
like  order  vanished  temporarily  from  the  court-room,  and 
tongues  were  going  in  all  directions,  many  things  were 
related  that  were  really  of  a  suspicious  character,  especially 
by  the  women.  The  coroner  adjourned  the  investigation 
for  the  convenience  of  irregular  conversation,  in  order  to 
obtain  useful  clews  to  the  succeeding  inquiries. 

"  You  say  that  old  Mrs.  Goodwin  had  a  good  deal  of 
specie?"  inquired  that  functionary  of  a  certain  Mrs.  Pope, 
a  widow  woman  who  had  been  free  with  her  communica- 
tions, and  who  very  well  might  know  more  than  the  rest 
of  the  neighbors,  from  a  very  active  propensity  she  had 
ever  manifested,  to  look  into  the  affairs  of  all  around  her. 
"Did  I  understand  you,  that  you  had  seen  this  money 
yourself  ? " 

"Yes,  sir;  often  and  often.  She  kept  it  in  a  stocking 
of  the  old  gentleman's,  that  was  nothing  but  darns  ;  so 
darny  like,  that  nobody  could  wear  it.  Miss  Goodwin 
wasn't  a  woman  to  put  away  anything  that  was  of  use.  A 
clusser  body  wasn't  to  be  found,  anywhere  near  Biberry." 

"  And  some  of  this  money  was  gold,  I  think  I  heard  you 
say.  A  stocking  pretty  well  filled  with  gold  and  silver." 

"  The  foot  was  cramming  full,  when  I  saw  it,  and  that 
wasn't  three  months  since.  I  can't  say  there  was  any  great 
matter  in  the  leg.  Yes,  there  was  gold  in  it,  too.  She 
showed  me  the  stocking  the  last  time  I  saw  it,  on  purpose 
to  ask  me  what  might  be  the  valie  of  a  piece  of  gold  that 
was  almost  as  big  as  half  a  dollar." 

"  Should  you  know  that  piece  of  gold,  were  you  to  see 
it,  again  ? " 

"  That  I  should.  I  didn't  know  its  name,  or  its  valie, 
for  I  never  seed  so  big  a  piece  afore,  but  I  told  Miss  Good- 
win I  thought  it  must  be  ra'al  Californy.  Them's  about 
now,  they  tell  me,  and  I  hope  poor  folks  will  come  in  for 
their  share.  Old  as  I  am — that  is,  not  so  very  old  neither 


THE   WA  YS   OF   THE   HOUR.  39 

— but  such  as  I  am,  I  never  had  a  piece  of  gold  in  my 
life." 

"  You  cannot  tell,  then,  the  name  of  this  particular 
coin  ?" 

"  I  couldn't ;  if  I  was  to  have  it  for  the  telling,  I  couldn't. 
It  wasn't  a  five  dollar  piece  ;  that  I  know,  for  the  old  lady 
had  a  good  many  of  them,  and  this  was  much  larger,  and 
yellower,  too  ;  better  gold,  I  conclude." 

The  coroner  was  accustomed  to  garrulous,  sight-seeing 
females,  and  knew  how  to  humor  them. 

"  Where  did  Mrs.  Goodwin  keep  her  specie  ? "  he  in- 
quired. "  If  you  ever  saw  her  put  the  stocking  away,  you 
must  know  its  usual  place  of  deposit." 

"  In  her  chest  of  drawers,"  answered  the  woman  eager- 
ly. "  That  very  chest  of  drawers  which  was  got  out  of 
the  house,  as  sound  as  the  day  it  went  into  it,  and  has  been 
brought  down  into  the  village  for  safe  keeping." 

All  this  was  so,  and  measures  were  taken  to  push  the 
investigation  further,  and  in  that  direction.  Three  or  four 
young  men,  willing  volunteers  in  such  a  cause,  brought 
the  bureau  into  the  court-room,  and  the  coroner  directed 
that  each  of  the  drawers  should  be  publicly  opened,  in  the 
presence  of  the  jurors.  The  widow  was  first  sworn,  how- 
ever, and  testified  regularly  to  the  matter  of  the  stocking, 
the  money,  and  the  place  of  usual  deposit. 

"  Ah  !  you'll  not  find  it  there,"  observed  Mrs.  Pope,  as 
the  village  cabinet-maker  applied  a  key,  the  wards  of 
which  happened  to  fit  those  of  the  locks  in  question. 
"  She  kept  her  money  in  the  lowest  drawer  of  all.  I've 
seen  her  take  the  stocking  out,  first  and  last,  at  least  a 
dozen  times." 

The  lower  drawer  was  opened,  accordingly.  It  contained 
female  apparel,  and  a  goodly  store  of  such  articles  as  were 
suited  to  the  wants  of  a  respectable  woman  in  the  fourth 
or  fifth  of  the  gradations  into  which  all  society  so  natural- 
ly, and  unavoidably,  divides  itself.  But  there  was  no 
stocking  full  of  darns,  no  silver,  no  gold.  Mrs.  Pope's 
busy  and  nimble  fingers  were  thrust  hastily  into  an  inner 
corner  of  the  drawer,  and  a  silk  dress  was  unceremoniously 
opened,  that  having  been  the  precise  receptacle  of  the  treas- 
ure as  she  had  seen  it  last  bestowed. 

"It's  gone  !  "  exclaimed  the  woman.  "  Somebody  must 
have  taken  it !  " 

A  great  deal  was  now  thought  to  be  established.  The 
broken  skulls,  and  the  missing  money,  went  near  to  estab- 


30  THE    irAYS    OF    THE    HOTK. 

lish  a  case  of  murder  and  robbery,  in  addition  to  the  high 
crime  of  arson.  Men,  who  had  worn  solemn  and  grave 
countenances  all  that  morning,  no\v  looked  excited  and 
earnest.  The  desire  for  a  requiting  justice  was  general  and 
active,  and  the  dead  became  doubly  dear,  by  means  of  their 
wrongs. 

All  this  time  Dr.  McBrain  had  been  attending,  exclusive- 
ly, to  the  part  of  the  subject  that  most  referred  to  his  own 
profession.  Of  the  fractures  in  the  two  skulls,  he  was  well 
assured,  though  the  appearance  of  the  remains  was  such  as 
almost  to  baffle  investigation.  Of  another  important  fact 
he  was  less  certain.  While  all  he  heard  prepared  him  to 
meet  with  the  skeletons  of  a  man  and  his  wife,  so  far  as  he 
could  judge,  in  the  imperfect  state  in  which  they  were 
laid  before  him,  the  bones  were  those  of  two  females. 

"Did  you  know  this  Mr.  Goodwin,  Mr.  Coroner?"  in- 
quired the  physician,  breaking  into  the  more  regular  ex- 
ammination  with  very  little  ceremony  ;  "  or  was  he  well 
known  to  any  here  ?  " 

The  coroner  had  no  very  accurate  knowledge  of  the  de- 
ceased, though  every  one  of  the  jurors  had  been  well 
acquainted  with  him.  Several  had  known  him  all  their 
lives. 

"  Was  he  a  man  of  ordinary  size  ?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

"  Very  small.  Not  taller  than  his  wife,  who  might  be 
set  down  as  quite  a  tall  old  lady." 

It  often  happens  in  Europe,  especially  in  England,  that 
the  man  and  his  wife  are  so  nearly  of  a  height  as  to  leave 
very  little  sensible  difference  in  their  stature  ;  but  it  is  a 
rare  occurrence  in  this  country.  In  America,  the  female 
is  usually  delicate,  and  of  a  comparatively  small  frame, 
while  the  average  height  of  a  man  is  something  beyond 
that  of  the  European  standard.  It  was  a  little  out  of  the 
common  way,  therefore,  to  meet  with  a  couple  so  nearly  of 
a  size,  as  these  remains  would  make  Goodwin  and  his  wife 
to  have  been. 

"These  skeletons  are  very  nearly  of  the  same  length," 
resumed  the  doctor,  after  measuring  them  for  the  fifth 
time.  "  The  man  could  not  have  been  much  if  any  taller 
than  his  wife." 

"He  was  not,"  answered  a  juror.  "Old  Peter  Goodwin 
could  not  have  been  more  than  five  feet  five,  and  Dorothy 
was  all  of  that,  I  should  think.  When  they  came  to  meet- 
ing together,  they  looked  much  of  a  muchness." 

Now  there  is  nothing  on  which  a  prudent  and  regular 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  31 

physician  is  more  cautious  than  in  committing  himself  on 
unknown  and  uncertain  ground.  He  has  his  theories,  and 
his  standard  of  opinions,  usually  well  settled  in  his  mind, 
and  he  is  ever  on  the  alert  to  protect  and  bolster  them  ; 
seldom  making  any  admission  that  may  contravene  either. 
He  is  apt  to  denounce  the  water  cure,  however  surprising 
may  have  been  its  effects  ;  and  there  is  commonly  but  one 
of  the  "  opathies  "  to  which  he  is  in  the  least  disposed  to 
defer,  and  that  is  the  particular  "opathy  "  on  which  he 
has  moulded  his  practice.  As  for  Dr.  McBrain,  he  belonged 
strictly  to  the  allopathic  school,  and  might  be  termed  al- 
most an  ultra  in  his  adherence  to  its  laws,  while  the 
number  of  the  new  schools  that  were  springing  up  around 
him,  taught  him  caution,  as  well  as  great  prudence,  in 
the  expression  of  his  opinions.  Give  him  a  patient,  and 
he  went  to  work  boldly,  and  with  the  decision  and  nerve 
of  a  physician  accustomed  to  practice  in  an  exaggerated 
climate  ;  but  place  him  before  the  public,  as  a  theoretical 
man,  and  he  was  timid  and  wary.  His  friend  Dunscomb 
had  observed  this  peculiarity,  thirty  years  before  the  com- 
mencement of  our  tale,  and  had  quite  recently  told  him, 
"  You  are  bold  in  the  only  thing  in  which  I  am  timid, 
Ned,  and  that  is  in  making  up  to  the  women.  If  Mrs.  Up- 
dyke  were  a  new-fangled  theory,  now,  instead  of  an  old- 
fashioned  widow,  as  she  is,  hang  me  if  I  think  you  would 
have  ever  had  the  spirit  to  propose."  This  peculiarity  of 
temperament,  and,  perhaps,  we  might  add  of  character, 
rendered  Dr.  McBrain,  now,  very  adverse  to  saying,  in  the 
face  of  such  probability,  and  the  statements  of  so  many 
witnesses,  that  the  mutilated  and  charred  skeletons  that  lay 
on  the  court-house  table  were  those  of  two  females,  and  not 
those  of  a  man  and  his  wife.  It  was  certainly  possible  he 
might  be  mistaken  ;  for  the  conflagration  had  made  sad 
work  of  these  poor  emblems  of  mortality  ;  but  science  has 
a  clear  eye,  and  the  doctor  was  a  skilful  and  practised  anat- 
omist. In  his  own  mind,  there  were  very  few  doubts  on 
the  subject. 

As  soon  as  the  thoughtful  physician  found  time  to  turn 
his  attention  on  the  countenances  of  those  who  composed 
the  crowd  in  the  court-room,  he  observed  that  nearly  all 
eyes  were  bent  on  the  person  of  one  particular  female, 
who  sat  apart,  and  was  seemingly  laboring  under  a  shock 
of  some  sort  or  other,  that  materially  affected  her  nerves. 
McBrain  saw,  at  a  glance,  that  this  person  belonged  to  a 
class  every  way  superior  to  that  of  even  the  highest  of 


32  THE   WAYS   OF    THE   HOUR. 

those  who  pressed  around  the  table.  The  face  was  con- 
cealed in  a  handkerchief,  but  the  form  was  not  only 
youthful  but  highly  attractive.  Small,  delicate  hands  and 
feet  could  be  seen  ;  such  hands  and  feet  as  we  are  all  ac- 
customed to  see  in  an  American  girl,  who  has  been  deli- 
cately brought  up.  Her  dress  was  simple,  and  of  ^studied 
modesty  ;  but  there  was  an  air  about  that,  which  a  little 
surprised  the  kind-hearted  individual,  who  was  now  so 
closely  observing  her. 

The  doctor  had  little  difficulty  in  learning  from  those 
near  him  that  this  *'  young  woman,"  so  all  in  the  crowrd 
styled  her,  though  it  was  their  practice  to  term  most  girls, 
however  humble  their  condition,  " ladies,"  had  been  re- 
siding witli  the  Goodwins  for  a  few  weeks,  in  the  character 
of  a  boarder,  as  some  asserted,  while  others  affirmed  it 
was  as  a  friend.  At  all  events,  there  was  a  mystery  about 
her  ;  and  most  of  the  girls  of  Biberry  had  called  her 
proud,  because  she  did  not  join  in  their  frivolities,  flirta- 
tions and  visits.  It  was  true,  no  one  had  ever  thought  of 
discharging  the  duties  of  social  life  by  calling  on  her,  or 
in  making  the  advances  usual  to  well-bred  people  ;  but  this 
makes  little  difference  where  there  is  a  secret  conscious- 
ness of  inferiority,  and  of  an  inferiority  that  is  felt,  while 
it  is  denied.  Such  things  are  of  every-day  occurrence,  in 
country-life  in  particular,  while  American  town-life  is  far 
from  being  exempt  from  the  weakness.  In  older  coun- 
tries, the  laws  of  society  are  better  respected. 

It  was  now  plain  that  the  blight  of  suspicion  had  fallen 
on  this  unknown,  and  seemingly  friendless  girl.  If  the 
fire  had  been  communicated  intentionally,  who  so  likely 
to  be  guilty  as  she  ? — if  the  money  was  gone,  who  had  so 
many  means  of  securing  it  as  herself  ?  These  were  ques- 
tions that  passed  from  one  to  another,  until  distrust 
gathered  so  much  head,  that  the  coroner  deemed  it  ex- 
pedient to  adjourn  the  inquest,  while  the  proof  might  be 
collected,  and  offered  in  proper  form. 

Dr.  McBrain  was,  by  nature,  kind-hearted  ;  then  he 
could  not  easily  get  over  that  stubborn  scientific  fact,  of  both 
the  skeletons  having  belonged  to  females.  It  is  true  that, 
admitting  this  to  be  the  case,  it  threw  very  little  light  on 
the  matter,  and  in  no  degree  lessened  any  grounds  of  sus- 
picion that  might  properly  rest  on  the  "  young  woman  ;  " 
but  it  separated  him  from  the  throng,  and  placed  his  mind 
in  a  sort  of  middle  condition,  in  which  he  fancied  it  might 
be  prudent,  as  well  as  charitable,  to  doubt.  Perceiving 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  33 

that  the  crowd  was  dispersing,  though  not  without  much 
animated  discussion  in  undertones,  and  that  the  subject  of 
all  this  conversation  still  remained  in  her  solitary  corner, 
apparently  unconscious  of  what  was  going  on,  the  worthy 
doctor  approached  the  immovable  figure,  and  spoke. 

"  You  have  come  here  as  a  witness,  I  presume,"  he  said, 
in  a  gentle  tone  ;  "if  so,  your  attendance  just  now  will  no 
longer  be  necessary,  the  coroner  having  adjourned  the  in- 
quest until  to-morrow  afternoon." 

At  the  first  sound  of  his  voice,  the  solitary  female  re- 
moved a  fine  cambric  handkerchief  from  her  face,  and  per- 
mitted her  new  companion  to  look  upon  it.  We  shall  say 
nothing,  here,  touching  that  countenance  or  any  other 
personal  peculiarity,  as  a  sufficiently  minute  description 
will  be  given  in  the  next  chapter,  through  the  communica- 
tions made  by  Dr.  McBrain  to  Dunscomb.  Thanking  her 
informant  for  his  information,  and  exchanging  a  few  brief 
sentences  on  the  melancholy  business  which  had  brought 
both  there,  the  young  woman  arose,  made  a  slight  but 
very  graceful  inclination  of  her  body,  and  withdrew. 

Dr.  McBrain's  purpose  was  made  up  on  the  spot  He  saw 
very  plainly  that  a  fierce  current  of  suspicion  was  setting 
against  this  pleasing,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  friendless 
young  creature  ;  and  he  determined  at  once  to  hasten  back 
to  town,  and  get  his  friend  to  go  out  to  Biberry,  without  a 
moment's  delay,  that  he  might  appear  there  that  very  after- 
noon in  the  character  of  counsel  to  the  helpless. 


CHAPTER  III. 

I  am  informed  thoroughly  of  the  cause. 

Which  is  the  merchant  here,  and  which  the  Jew  ? 

— Merchant  of  Venice. 

SUCH  was  the  substance  of  the  communication  that  Dr. 
McBrain  now  made  to  his  friend,  Tom  Dunscomb.     The 
latter  had  listened  with  an  interest  he  did  not  care  to  be- 
tray, and  when  the  other  was  done  he  gayly  cried — 
"  I'll  tell  the  Widow  Updyke  of  you,  Ned  ! " 
"She  knows  the  whole  story   already,  and  is  very  anx- 
ious lest  you  should  have  left  town,  to  go  to  the  Rockland 
circuit,  where  she  has  been  told  you  have  an  important 
case  to  try." 

3 


34  THE   WAYS    OF   THE  HOUR. 

"  The  case  goes  over  on  account  of  the  opposite  coun- 
sel's being  in  the  court  of  appeals.  Ah's  me  !  I  have  no 
pleasure  in  managing  a  cause  since  this  Code  of  Pro- 
cedure has  innovated  on  all  our  comfortable  and  venerable 
modes  of  doing  business.  I  believe  I  shall  close  up  my 
affairs,  and  retire,  as  soon  as  I  can  bring  all  my  old  cases  to 
a  termination." 

"  If  you  can  bring  those  old  cases  to  a  termination,  you 
will  be  the  first  lawyer  who  ever  did." 

"  Yes,  it  is  true,  Ned,"  answered  Dunscomb,  coolly 
taking  a  pinch  of  snuff,  "  you  doctors  have,  the  advantage 
of  us,  in  this  behalf  ;  voiir  cases  certainly  do  not  last  for- 
ever." 

'•  Enough  of  this,  Tom — you  will  go  to  Biberry,  I  take  it 
for  granted  ? " 

"  You  have  forgotten  the  fee.  Under  the  new  code,  com- 
pensation is  a  matter  of  previous  agreement." 

"You  shall  have  a  pleasant  excursion,  over  good  roads, 
in  the  month  of  May,  in  an  easy  carriage,  and  drawn  by 
a  pair  of  as  spirited  horses  as  ever  trotted  on  the  Third 
Avenue." 

"The  animals  you  have  just  purchased  in  honor  of  Mrs. 
Updyke  that  is — Mrs.  McBrain  that  is  to  be — "  touching 
the  bell,  and  adding  to  the  very  respectable  black  who  im- 
mediately answered  the  summons,  "  Tell  Master  Jack  and 
Miss  Sarah  I  wish  to  see  them.  So,  Ned,  you  have  let  the 
widow  know  all  about  it,  and  she  does  not  pout  or  look 
distrustful — that  is  a  good  symptom,  at  least." 

"  I  would  not  marry  a  jealous  woman/  if  I  never  had  a 
wife." 

"Then  you  will  never  marry  at  all.  Why,  Dr.  Mc- 
Brain, it  is  in  the  nature  of  woman  to  be  distrustful — to 
be  jealous — to  fancy  things  that  are  merely  figments  of 
the  brain." 

"You  know  nothing  about  them,  and  would  be  wisest 
to  be  silent — but  here  are  the  young  people  already,  to  ask 
your  pleasure." 

"  Sarah,  my  dear,"  resumed  the  uncle  in  a  kind  and  af- 
fectionate tone  of  voice,  one  that  the  old  bachelor  almost 
universally  held  toward  that  particular  relative,  "  I  must 
give  you  a  little  trouble.  Go  into  my  room,  child,  and 
put  up,  in  my  smallest  travelling  bag,  a  clean  shirt,  a  hand- 
kerchief or  two,  three  or  four  collars,  and  a  change  all 
round,  for  a  short  expedition  into  the  country." 

"  Country  !     Do  you  quit  us  to-day,  sir  ?  " 


THE   IV A  YS    OF   THE   HOUR.  35 

"Within  an  hour,  at  latest,"  looking  at  his  watch.  "If 
we  leave  the  door  at  ten,  we  can  reach  Biberry  before  the 
inquest  reassembles.  You  told  those  capital  beasts  of 
yours,  Ned,  to  come  here  ? " 

"  I  told  Stephen  to  give  them  a  hint  to  that  effect  You 
may  rely  on  their  punctuality." 

"  Jack,  you  had  better  be  of  our  party.  I  go  on  some 
legal  business  of  importance,  and  it  may  be  well  for  you  to 
go  along,  in  order  to  pick  up  an  idea  or  two." 

"And  why  not  Michael  also,  sir  ?  He  has  as  much  need 
of  ideas  as  I  have  myself." 

A  pretty  general  laugh  succeeded,  though  Sarah,  who 
was  just  quitting  the  room,  did  not  join  in  it.  She  rather 
looked  grave,  as  well  as  a  little  anxiously  toward  the  last 
named  neophyte  of  the  law. 

"  Shall  we  want  any  books,  sir  ? "  demanded  the  nephew. 

"  Why,  yes — we  will  take  the  Code  of  Procedure.  One 
can  no  more  move  without  that,  just  now,  than  he  can 
travel  in  some  countries  without  a  passport.  Yes,  put 
up  the  code,  Jack,  and  we'll  pick  it  to  pieces  as  we  trot 
along." 

"  There  is  little  need  of  that,  sir,  if  what  they  say  be  true. 
I  hear,  from  all  quarters,  that  it  is  doing  that  for  itself,  on 
a  gallop." 

"  Shame  on  thee,  lad — I  have  half  a  mind  to  banish 
thee  to  Philadelphia !  But  put  up  the  code  ;  thy  joke 
can't  be  worse  than  that  joke.  As  for  Michael,  he  can  ac- 
company us  if  he  wish  it ;  but  you  must  both  be  ready  by 
ten.  At  ten,  precisely,  we  quit  my  door,  in  the  chariot  of 
Phcebus,  eh,  Ned?" 

"  Call  it  what  you  please,  so  you  do  but  go.  Be  active, 
young  gentlemen,  for  we  have  no  time  to  throw  away.  The 
jury  meet  again  at  two,  and  we  have  several  hours  of  road 
before  us.  I  will  run  round  and  look  at  my  slate,  and  be 
here  by  the  time  you  are  ready." 

On  this  suggestion  everybody  was  set  in  active  motion. 
John  went  for  his  books,  and  to  fill  a  small  rubber  bag  for 
himself,  Michael  did  the  same,  and  Sarah  was  busy  in  her 
uncle's  room.  As  for  Dunscomb,  he  made  the  necessary 
disposition  of  some  papers,  wrote  two  or  three  notes,  and 
held  himself  at  the  command  of  his  friend.  This  affair 
was  just  the  sort  of  professional  business  in  which  he 
liked  to  be  engaged.  Not  that  he  had  any  sympathy  with 
crime,  for  he  was  strongly  averse  to  all  communion  with 
rogues  ;  but  it  appeared  to  him,  by  the  representations  oJ 


36  THE   WAYS    OF  THE  HOUR. 

the  doctor,  to  be  a  mission  of  mercy.  A  solitary,  young, 
unfriended  female,  accused,  or  suspected,  of  a  most  hein- 
ous crime,  and  looking  around  for  a  protector  and  an  ad- 
viser, was  an  object  too  interesting  for  a  man  of  his  tem- 
perament to  overlook,  under  the  appeal  that  had  been 
made.  Still  he  was  not  the  dupe  of  his  feelings.  All  his 
coolness,  sagacity,  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  pro- 
fessional attainments,  were  just  as  active  in  him  as  they 
ever  had  been  in  his  life.  Two  things  he  understood  well ; 
that  we  are  much  too  often  deceived  by  outward  signs, 
mistaking  character  by  means  of  a  fair  exterior,  and  studied 
words,  and  that  neither  youth,  beauty,  sex,  nor  personal 
graces  were  infallible  preventives  of  the  worst  offences,  on 
the  one  hand  ;  and  that,  on  the  other,  men  nurture  dis- 
trust and  suspicion  often,  until  it  grows  too  large  to  be 
concealed,  by  means  of  their  own  propensity  to  feed  the 
imagination  and  to  exaggerate.  Against  these  two  weak- 
nesses he  was  now  resolved  to  arm  himself ;  and  when  the 
whole  party  drove  from  the  door,  our  counsellor  was  as 
clear-headed  and  impartial,  according  to  his  own  notion 
of  the  matter,  as  if  he  were  a  judge. 

By  this  time  the  young  men  had  obtained  a  general 
notion  of  the  business  they  were  on,  and  the  very  first 
subject  that  was  started,  on  quitting  the  door,  was  in 
a  question  put  by  John  Wilmeter,  in  continuation  of  a 
discussion  that  had  been  commenced  between  himself  and 
his  friend. 

"  Mike  and  I  have  a  little  difference  of  opinion,  on  a 
point  connected  with  this  matter,  which  I  could  wish  you  to 
settle  for  us,  as  an  arbiter.  On  the  supposition  that  you 
find  reason  to  believe  that  this  young  woman  has  really 
committed  these  horrible  crimes,  what  would  be  your  duty 
in  the  case — to  continue  to  befriend  her,  and  advise  her, 
and  use  your  experience  and  talents  in  order  to  shield 
her  against  the  penalties  of  the  law,  or  to  abandon  her 
at  once  ?  " 

"  In  plain  English,  Jack,  you  and  your  brother  student 
wish  to  know  whether  I  am  to  act  as  a  palladium,  or  as  a 
runagate,  in  this  affair.  As  neophytes  in  your  craft,  it  may 
be  well  to  suggest  to  you,  in  the  first  place,  that  I  have  not 
yet  been  feed.  I  never  knew  a  lawyer's  conscience  trouble 
him  about  questions  in  casuistry,  until  he  had  received 
something  down." 

"  But  you  can  suppose  that  something  paid,  in  this  case, 
sir,  and  then  answer  our  question." 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  37 

"This  is  just  the  case  in  which  I  can  suppose  nothing 
of  the  sort.  Had  McBrain  given  me  to  understand  I  was 
to  meet  a  client  with  a  well-lined  purse,  who  was  accused 
of  arson  and  murder,  I  would  have  seen  him  married  to  two 
women  at  the  same  time  before  I  would  have  budged.  It's 
the  want  of  a  fee  that  takes  me  out  of  town  this  morning." 

"And  the  same  want,  I  trust,  sir,  will  stimulate  you  to 
solve  our  difficulty." 

The  uncle  laughed,  and  nodded  his  head,  much  as  if  he 
would  say,  ''Pretty  well  ioryou;"  then  he  gave  a  thought 
to  the  point  in  professional  ethics  that  had  started  up  be- 
tween his  two  students. 

"  This  is  a  very  old  question  with  the  profession,  gentle- 
men," Dunscomb  answered,  a  little  more  gravely.  "You 
will  find  men  who  maintain  that  the  lawyer  has,  morally,  a 
right  to  do  whatever  his  client  would  do  ;  that  he  puts  him- 
self in  the  place  of  the  man  he  defends,  and  is  expected  to 
do  everything  precisely  as  if  he  were  the  accused  party 
himself.  I  rather  think  that  some  vague  notion,  quite  as 
loose  as  this,  prevails  pretty  generally  among  what  one 
may  call  the  minor  moralists  of  the  profession." 

"  I  confess,  sir,  that  I  have  been  given  to  understand  that 
some  such  rule  ought  to  govern  our  conduct,"  said  Michael 
Millington,  who  had  been  in  Dunscomb's  office  only  for 
the  last  six  months. 

"  Then  you  have  been  very  loosely  and  badly  instructed 
in  the  duties  of  an  advocate,  Mr.  Michael.  A  more  per- 
nicious doctrine  was  never  broached,  or  one  better  suited  to 
make  men  scoundrels.  Let  a  young  man  begin  practice 
with  such  notions,  and  two  or  three  thieves  for  clients  will 
prepare  him  to  commit  petit  larceny,  and  a  case  or  two  of 
perjury  would  render  him  an  exquisite  at  an  affidavit.  No, 
my  boys,  here  is  your  rule  in  this  matter  :  an  advocate  has  a 
right  to  do  whatever  his  client  has  a  right  to  do — not  what 
his  client  «/##/</ do." 

"Surely,  sir,  an  advocate  is  justified  in  telling  his  client 
to  plead  not  guilty,  though  guilty  ;  and  in  aiding  him  to 
persuade  a  jury  to  acquit  him,  though  satisfied  himself  he 
ought  to  be  convicted  !  " 

"You  have  got  hold  of  the  great  point  in  the  case,  Jack, 
and  one  on  which  something  may  be  said  on  both  sides. 
The  law  is  so  indulgent  as  to  permit  an  accused  who  has 
formally  pleaded  'guilty,'  thus  making  a  distinct  admis- 
sion of  his  crime,  to  withdraw  that  plea,  and  put  in  another 
of  '  not  guilty.'  Now,  had  the  same  person  made  a  similar 


38  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

admission  out  of  court,  and  under  circumstances  that  put 
threats  or  promises  out  of  the  question,  the  law  would  have 
accepted  that  admission  as  the  best  possible  evidence  of  his 
guilt.  It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  an  understanding  exists, 
to  which  the  justice  of  the  country  is  a  party,  that  a  man, 
though  guilty,  shall  get  himself  out  of  the  scrape  if  he  can  do 
so  by  legal  means.  No  more  importance  is  attached  to  the 
*  not  guilty '  than  to  the  '  not  at  home '  to  a  visitor  ;  it  being 
understood,  by  general  convention,  that  neither  means  any- 
thing. Some  persons  are  so  squeamish,  as  to  cause  their 
servants  to  say  'they  are  engaged,'  by  way  of  not  telling  a 
lie  ;  but  a  lie  consists  in  the  intentional  deception,  and 
'  not  in  '  and  '  not  guilty '  mean  no  more,  in  the  one  case, 
than  *  you  can't  see  my  master,'  and  in  the  other,  than '  I'll 
run  the  chances  of  a  trial.'  " 

"  After  all,  sir,  this  is  going  pretty  near  the  wind,  in  the 
way  of  morals." 

"  It  certainly  is.  The  Christian  man  who  has  committed 
a  crime  ought  not  to  attempt  to  deny  it  to  his  country,  as 
he  certainly  can  not  to  his  God.  Yet,  nine  hundred  and 
ninety-nine  out  of  a  thousand  of  the  most  straight-laced 
Christians  in  the  community  would  so  deny  their  guilt  if 
arraigned.  We  must  not  tax  poor  human  nature  too  heav- 
ily, though  I  think  the  common  law  contains  many  things, 
originating  in  a  jealousy  of  hereditary  power,  that  it  is  a 
great  folly  for  us  to  preserve.  But,while  we  are  thus  sett- 
ling principles  we  forget  facts.  You  have  told  me  nothing 
of  your  client,  Ned." 

"  What  would  you  wish  to  know  ? " 

"  You  call  her  young,  I  remember  ;  what  may  be  her 
precise  age  ? " 

"  That  is  more  than  I  know  ;  somewhere  between  sixteen 
and  five-and-twenty." 

"  Five-and-twenty  !     Is  she  as  old  as  that  ? " 

"  I  rather  think  not ;  but  I  have  been  thinking  much  of 
her  this  morning,  and  I  really  do  not  remember  to  have 
seen  another  human  being  who  is  so  difficult  to  describe." 

"She  has  eyes,  of  course  ?" 

u  Two — and  very  expressive  they  are  ;  though,  sworn,  I 
could  not  tell  their  color." 

"And  hair?" 

"  In  very  great  profusion  ;  so  much  of  it,  and  so  very 
fine  and  shinitig,  that  it  was  the  very  first  thing  about  her 
person  which  I  observed.  But  I  have  not  the  least  notion 
of  its  color," 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  39 

"  Was  it  red  ?  " 

"  No  ;  nor  yellow,  nor  golden,  nor  black,  nor  brown-r^ 
and  yet  a  little  of  all  blended  together,  I  should  say." 

"  Ned,  I'll  tell  the  Widow  Updyke  of  thee,  thou  rogue  !" 

"Tell  her,  and  welcome.  She  has  asked  me  all  these 
questions  herself,  this  very  morning." 

4 '  Oh,  she  has,  has  she?  Umph!  Woman  never  changes 
her  nature.  You  cannot  say  anything  about  the  eyes,  be- 
yond the  fact  of  their  being  very  expressive  ?  " 

"And  pleasing  ;  more  than  that,  even — engaging;  win- 
ning is  a  better  term." 

"Ned,  you  dog,  you  have  never  told  the  widow  one- 
half  !  " 

"  Every  syllable.  I  even  went  further,  and  declared  I 
had  never  beheld  a  countenance  that,  in  so  short  an  inter- 
view, made  so  deep  an  impression  on  me.  If  I  were  not 
to  see  this  young  woman  again,  I  should  never  forget  the 
expression  of  her  face — so  spirited,  so  sad,  so  gentle,  so 
feminine,  and  so  very  intelligent.  It  seemed  to  me  to  be 
what  I  should  call  an  illuminated  countenance." 

"  Handsome  ? " 

"  Not  unusually  so,  among  our  sweet  American  girls,  ex- 
cept through  the  expression.  That  was  really  wonderful ; 
though,  you  will  remember,  I  saw  her  under  very  peculiar 
circumstances." 

"  Oh,  exceedingly  peculiar.  Dear  old  soul ;  what  a 
thump  she  has  given  him  !  How  were  her  mouth  and  her 
teeth  ? — complexion,  stature,  figure,  and  smile  ?  " 

"  I  can  tell  you  little  of  all  these.  Her  teeth  are  fine  ; 
for  she  gave  me  a  faint  smile,  such  as  a  lady  is  apt  to  give 
a  man  in  quitting  him,  and  I  saw  just  enough  of  the  teeth 
to  know  that  they  are  exceedingly  fine.  You  smile,  young 
gentlemen  ;  but  you  may  have  a  care  for  your  hearts,  in 
good  truth ;  for  if  this  strange  girl  interests  either  of  you 
one-half  as  much  as  she  has  interested  me,  she  will  be 
either  Mrs.  John  Wilmeter,  or  Mrs.  Michael  Millington, 
within  a  twelvemonth." 

Michael  looked  very  sure  that  she  would  never  fill  the 
last  situation,  which  was  already  bespoke  for  Miss  Sarah 
Wilmeter  ;  and  as  for  Jack,  he  laughed  outright. 

"  We'll  tell  Mrs.  Updyke  of  him,  when  we  get  back,  and 
break  off  that  affair,  at  least,"  cried  the  uncle,  winking  at 
the  nephew,  but  in  away  his  friend  should  see  him  ;  "then 
there  will  be  one  marriage  the  less  in  the  world." 

"But  is  she   a  lady,  doctor?"  demanded  John,  after  a 


40  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

short  pause.  "My  wife  must  have  some  trifling  claims  in 
that  way,  I  can  assure  you." 

"As  for  family,  education,  association,  and  fortune,  I  can 
say  nothing — I  know  nothing.  Yet  will  I  take  upon  my- 
self to  say  she  is  a  lady — and  that,  in  the  strict  signification 
of  the  term." 

"  You  are  not  serious  now,  Ned  !  "  exclaimed  the  coun- 
sellor, quickly.  "  Not  a  bony  fide,  as  some  of  our  gentlemen 
have  it  ?  You  cannot  mean  exactly  what  you  say." 

"  I  do,  though  ;  and  that  literally." 

"And  she  suspected  of  arson  and  murder  !  Where  are 
her  connections  and  friends — those  who  make  her  a  lady  ? 
Why  is  she  there  alone,  and,  as  you  say,  unfriended  ?" 

"  So  it  seemed  to  me.  You  might  as  well  ask  me  why 
she  is  there  at  all.  I  know  nothing  of  all  this.  I  heard 
plenty  of  reasons  in  the  street,  why  she  ought  to  be  dis- 
trusted— nay,  convicted  ;  for  the  feeling  against  her  had 
got  to  be  intense  before  I  left  Biberry  ;  but  no  one  could 
tell  me  whence  she  came,  or  why  she  was  there." 

"  Did  you  learn  her  name  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  that  was  in  every  mouth,  and  I  could  not  help 
hearing  it.  She  was  called  Mary  Monson  by  the  people  of 
Biberry — but  I  much  doubt  if  that  be  her  real  name." 

"  So,  your  angel  in  disguise  will  have  to  be  tried  under 
an  'alias.'  That  is  not  much  in  her  favor,  Ned.  I  shall 
ask  no  more  questions,  but  wait  patiently  to  see  and  judge 
for  myself." 

The  young  men  put  a  few  more  interrogatories,  which 
were  civilly  answered,  and  then  the  subject  was  dropped. 
Well  it  has  been  said  that  "  God  made  the  country  ;  man 
made  the  town."  No  one  feels  this  more  than  he  who  has 
been  shut  up  between  walls  of  brick  and  stone  for  many 
months,  on  his  first  escape  into  the  open,  unfettered  fields 
and  winding  pleasant  roads.  Thus  was  it  now  with  Duns- 
comb.  He  had  not  been  out  of  town  since  the  previous 
summer,  and  great  was  his  delight  at  smelling  the  fra- 
grance of  the  orchards,  and  feasting  his  eyes  on  their 
beauties.  All  the  other  charms  of  the  season  came  in  aid 
of  these,  and  when  the  carriage  drove  into  the  long,  broad, 
and  we  might  almost  say  single  street  of  Biberry,  Duns- 
comb  in  particular  was  in  a  most  tranquil  and  pleasant 
state  of  mind.  He  had  come  out  to  assist  a  friendless 
woman,  cheerfully  and  without  a  thought  of  the  sacrifice, 
either  as  to  time  or  money,  though  in  reflecting  on  all  the 
circumstances  he  began  to  have  his  doubts  of  the  wisdom 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  41 

of  the  step  he  had  taken.  Nevertheless,  he  preserved  his 
native  calmness  of  manner  and  coolness  of  head. 

Biberry  was  found  to  be  in  a  state  of  high  excitement. 
There  were  at  least  a  dozen  physicians  collected  there,  all 
from  the  county,  and  five  or  six  reporters  had  come  from 
town.  Rumors  of  all  sorts  were  afloat,  and  Mary  Monson 
wras  a  name  in  every  person's  mouth.  She  had  not  been 
arrested,  however,  it  having  been  deemed  premature  for 
that ;  but  she  was  vigilantly  watched,  and  two  large  trunks 
of  which  she  was  the  mistress,  as  well  as  an  oilskin-covered 
box  of  some  size,  if  not  absolutely  seized,  were  so  placed 
that  their  owner  had  no  access  to  them.  This  state  of 
things,  however,  did  not  seem  to  give  the  suspected  girl 
any  uneasiness  ;  she  was  content  with  what  a  carpet-bag 
contained,  and  with  which  she  said  she  was  comfortable. 
It  was  a  question  with  the  wiseacres  whether  she  knew 
that  she  was  suspected  or  not. 

Had  Dunscomb  yielded  to  McBrain's  solicitations,  he 
would  have  gone  at  once  to  the  -house  in  which  Mary 
Monson  was  now  lodged,  but  he  preferred  adopting  a  dif- 
ferent course.  He  thought  it  the  most  prudent  to  be  a 
looker-on,  until  after  the  next  examination,  which  was  now 
close  at  hand.  Wary  by  long  habit,  and  cool  by  tempera- 
ment, he  wras  disposed  to  observe  the  state  of  things  before 
he  committed  himself.  The  presence  of  the  reporters  an- 
noyed him  ;  not  that  he  stood  in  any  dread  of  the  low  tyr- 
anny that  is  so  apt  to  characterize  this  class  of  men,  for 
no  member  of  the  bar  had  held  them,  and  the  puny  efforts 
of  many  among  them  to  build  up  and  take  away  profes- 
sional character,  in  greater  contempt  than  he  had  done  ; 
but  he  disliked  to  have  his  name  mixed  up  with  a  cause  of 
this  magnitude,  unless  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go 
through  with  it.  In  this  temper,  then,  no  communication 
was  held  with  Mary  Monson,  until  they  met,  at  the  hour 
appointed  for  the  inquest,  in  the  court-house. 

The  room  was  crowded,  at  least  twice  as  many  having 
collected  on  this  occasion  as  had  got  together  on  the  sud- 
den call  of  the  previous  examination.  Dunscomb  observed 
that  the  coroner  looked  grave,  like  a  man  who  felt  he  had 
important  business  on  his  hands,  while  a  stern  expectation 
was  the  expression  common  to  nearly  all  the  others  pres- 
ent. He  was  an  utter  stranger  himself,  even  by  sight,  to 
every  being  present,  his  own  party  and  two  or  three  of  the 
reporters  excepted.  These  last  no  sooner  observed  him, 
however,  than  out  came  their  little  note-books,  and  the 


42  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

gold  pens  were  at  work,  scribbling  something.  It  was 
probably  a  sentence  to  say,  "We  observed  among  the 
crowd  Thomas  Dunscomb,  Esquire,  the  well-known  coun- 
sel from  the  city  ;  "  but  Dunscomb  cared  very  little  for  such 
vulgarisms,  and  continued  passive. 

As  soon  as  the  inquest  was  organized,  the  coroner  di- 
rected a  physician  of  the  neighborhood  to  be  put  on  the 
stand.  It  had  gone  forth  that  a  "city  doctor"  had  inti- 
mated that  neither  of  the  skeletons  was  that  of  Peter  Good- 
win, and  there  was  a  common  wish  to  confront  him  with 
a  high  country  authority.  It  was  while  the  medical  man 
n'ow  in  request  was  sent  for,  that  McBrain  pointed  out 
to  Dunscomb  the  person  of  Mary  Monson.  She  sat  in  a 
corner  different  from  that  she  had  occupied  the  day  before, 
seemingly  for  the  same  purpose,  or  that  of  being  alone. 
Alone  she  was  not,  strictly,  however  ;  a  respectable-looking 
female,  of  middle  age,  being  at  her  side.  This  was  a  Mrs. 
Jones,  the  wife  of  a  clergyman,  who  had  charitably  offered 
the  suspected  young  stranger  a  home  under  her  own  roof, 
pending  the  investigation.  It  was  thought,  generally,  that 
Mary  Monson  had  but  very  vague  notions  of  the  distrust 
that  rested  on  her,  it  being  a  part  of  the  plan  of  those  who 
were  exercising  all  their  wits  to  detect  the  criminal,  that 
she  was  first  to  learn  this  fact  in  open  court,  and  under 
circumstances  likely  to  elicit  some  proofs  of  guilt.  When 
Dunscomb  learned  this  artifice,  he  saw  how  ungenerous 
and  unmanly  it  was,  readily  imagined  a  dozen  signs  of 
weakness  that  a  female  might  exhibit  in  such  a  strait,  that 
had  no  real  connection  with  crime,  and  felt  a  strong  dispo- 
sition to  seek  an  interview,  and  put  the  suspected  party  on 
her  guard.  It  was  too  late  for  this,  however,  just  then  ; 
and  he  contented  himself,  for  the  moment,  with  study- 
ing such  signs  of  character  and  consciousness  as  his 
native  sagacity  and  long  experience  enabled  him  to  de- 
tect. 

Although  nothing  could  be  more  simple  or  unpretending 
than  the  attire  of  Mary  Monson,  it  was  clearly  that  of  a 
lady.  Everything  about  her  denoted  that  station,  or  origin  ; 
though  everything  about  her,  as  Dunscomb  fancied,  also 
denoted  a  desire  to  bring  herself  down,  as  nearly  as  possi- 
ble, to  the  level  of  those  around  her,  most  probably  that 
she  might  not  attract  particular  attention.  Our  lawyer  did 
not  exactly  like  this  slight  proof  of  management,  and 
wished  it  were  not  so  apparent.  He  could  see  the  hands, 
feet,  figure,  hair,  and  general  air  of  the  female  he  was  so 


THE   WA  YS    OF   THE   HOUR. 


43 


strangely  called  on  to  make  the  subject  of  his  investiga- 
tions, but  he  could  not  yet  see  her  face.  The  last  was 
again  covered  with  a  cambric  handkerchief,  the  hand  which 
held  it  being  ungloved.  It  was  a  pretty  little  American 
hand  ;  white,  well-proportioned,  and  delicate.  It  was  clear 
that  neither  its  proportions  nor  its  color  had  been  changed 
by  uses  unsuited  to  its  owner's  sex  or  years.  But  it  had 
no  ring,  in  this  age  of  bejewelled  fingers.  It  was  the  left 
hand,  moreover,  and  the  fourth  finger,  like  all  the  rest,  had 
no  ornament,  or  sign  of  matrimony.  He  inferred  from  this 
that  the  stranger  was  unmarried;  one  of  the  last  things 
that  a  wife  usually  lays  aside  being  her  wedding-ring.  The 
foot  corresponded  with  the  hand,  and  was  decidedly  the 
smallest,  best-formed,  and  best-decorated  foot  in  Biberry. 
John  Wilmeter  thought  it  the  prettiest  he  had  ever  seen. 
It  was  not  studiously  exhibited,  however,  but  rested  nat- 
urally and  gracefully  in  its  proper  place.  The  figure  gen- 
erally, so  far  as  a  capacious  shawl  would  allow  of  its  being 
seen,  was  pleasing,  graceful,  and  a  little  remarkable  for 
accuracy  of  proportions,  as  well  as  of  attire. 

Once  or  twice  Mrs.  Jones  spoke  to  her  companion  ;  and 
it  was  when  answering  some  question  thus  put  that  Duns- 
comb  first  got  a  glimpse  of  his  intended  client's  face.  The 
handkerchief  was  partly  removed,  and  remained  so  long 
enough  to  enable  him  to  make  a  few  brief  observations. 
It  was  then  that  he  felt  the  perfect  justice  of  his  friend's 
description.  It  was  an  indescribable  countenance,  in  all 
things  but  its  effect  ;  which  was  quite  as  marked  on  the 
lawyer,  as  it  had  been  on  the  physician.  But  the  arrival 
of  Dr.  Coe  put  an  end  to  these  observations,  and  drew  all 
eyes  on  that  individual,  who  "was  immediately  sworn.  The 
customary  preliminary  questions  were  put  to  this  witness, 
respecting  his  profession,  length  of  practice,  residence,  etc., 
when  the  examination  turned  more  on  the  matter  immedi- 
ately under  investigation. 

"You  see  those  objects  on  the  table,  doctor?"  said  the 
coroner.  "  What  do  you  say  they  are  ?  " 

"  Ossa  hominum :  human  bones,  much  defaced  and  charred 
by  heat." 

"  Do  you  find  any  proof  about  them  of  violence  com- 
mitted, beyond  the  damage  done  by  fire  ? " 

"  Certainly.  There  is  the  os  frontis  of  each  fractured  by 
a  blow  ;  a  common  blow,  as  I  should  judge." 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir,  by  a  common  blow  ?  An  acci- 
dental, or  an  intentional  blow?" 


44  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

"  By  common  blow,  I  mean  that  one  blow  did  the  dam. 
age  to  both  cranys" 

"  Crany? — how  do  you  spell  that  word,  doctor  ?  Common 
folks  get  put  out  by  foreign  tongues." 

"  Cranys,  in  the  plural,  sir.  We  say  cranium  for  one 
skull,  and  crany  for  two." 

"  I  wonder  what  he  would  say  for  numskull  ? "  whispered 
John  to  Michael. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  understand  you,  now.  I  trust  the  reporters 
will  get  it  right." 

"  Oh  !  they  never  make  any  mistakes,  especially  in  legal 
proceedings,"  quietly  remarked  Mr.  Dunscomb  to  the  doc- 
tor. "  In  matters  of  law  and  the  constitution  they  are  of 
proof  !  Talk  of  letters  on  the  constitution  !  What  are 
equal  to  those  that  come  to  us,  hibernally,  as  one  may  say, 
from  Washington  ? " 

"  Hibernially  would  be  the  better  word,"  answered  Mc- 
Brain,  in  the  same  undertone. 

"  You  ought  to  know  ;  your  grandfather  was  an  Irish- 
man, Ned.  But  listen  to  this  examination." 

"  And  now,  Dr.  Coe,  have  the  goodness  to  look  at  these 
skeletons,"  resumed  the  coroner,  "and  tell  us  whether  they 
belong  to  man,  woman,  or  child.  Whether  they  are  the 
remains  of  adults,  or  of  children." 

"  Of  adults,  certainly.  On  that  point,  sir,  I  conceive 
there  can  be  no  doubt." 

"  And  as  to  the  sex  ? " 

.  "I  should  think  that  is  equally  clear.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  one  are  the  remains  of  Peter  Goodwin,  and  the  other 
those  of  his  wife.  Science  can  distinguish  between  the 
sexes,  in  ordinary  cases,  I  allo\v  ;  but  this  is  a  case  in  which 
science  is  at  fault,  for  want  of  facts  ;  and  taking  all  the 
known  circumstances  into  consideration,  I  have  no  hesita- 
tion in  saying  that,  according  to  my  best  judgment,  those  are 
the  remains  of  the  missing  man  and  woman — man  and  wife." 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  recognize  the  particular 
skeletons  by  any  outward,  visible  proofs  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  there  is  the  stature.  Both  of  the  deceased  were 
well  known  to  me  ;  and  I  should  say,  that  making  the 
usual  allowance  for  the  absence  of  the  musculi,  the  pellis, 
and  other  known  substances " 

"  Doctor,  would  it  be  just  as  agreeable  to  you  to  use  the 
common  dialect  ? "  demanded  a  shrewd-looking  farmer,  one 
of  the  jury,  who  appeared  equally  amused  and  vexed  at  the 
display  of  learning. 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  45 

"Certainly,  sir — certainly,  Mr.  Blore  ;  musculi  means 
muscles,  and  pellis  is  the  skin.  Abstract  the  muscles  and 
skin,  and  the  other  intermediate  substances,  from  the  bones, 
and  the  apparent  stature  would  be  reduced,  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Making  those  allowances,  I  see  in  those  skeletons 
the  remains  of  Peter  and  Dorothy  Goodwin.  Of  the  fact, 
I  entertain  no  manner  of  doubt." 

As  Dr.  Coe  was  very  sincere  in  what  he  said,  he  ex- 
pressed himself  somewhat  earnestly.  A  great  many  eyes 
were  turned  triumphantly  toward  the  stranger  who  had 
presumed  to  intimate  that  the  bones  of  both  the  remains 
were  those  of  women,  when  everybody  in  and  about  Bi- 
berry  knew  Peter  Goodwin  so  well,  and  knew  that  his  wife, 
if  anything,  was  the  taller  of  the  two.  No  one  in  all  that 
crowd  doubted  as  to  the  fact,  except  McBrain  and  his 
friend  ;  and  the  last  doubted  altogether  on  the  faith  of  the 
doctor's  science.  He  had  never  known  him  mistaken, 
though  often  examined  in  court,  and  was  aware  that  the 
bar  considered  him  one  of  the  safest  and  surest  witnesses 
they  could  employ  in  all  cases  of  controverted  facts. 

Dr.  Coe's  examination  proceeded. 

"  Have  you  a  direct  knowledge  of  any  of  the  circum- 
stances connected  with  this  fire  ? "  demanded  the  coroner. 

"  A  little,  perhaps.  I  was  called  to  visit  a  patient  about 
midnight,  and  was  obliged  to  pass  directly  before  the  door 
of  Goodwin's  house.  The  jury  knows  that  it  stood  on  a 
retired  road,  and  that  one  would  not  be  likely  to  meet 
with  any  person  travelling  it  so  early  in  the  morning.  I 
did  pass,  however,  two  men,  who  were  walking  very  fast, 
and  in  the  direction  of  Goodwin's.  I  could  not  see  their 
faces,  nor  did  I  know  them  by  their  figures  and  move- 
ments. As  I  see  everybody,  and  know  almost  everybody, 
hereabouts,  I  concluded  they  were  strangers.  About  four 
I  was  on  my  return  along  the  same  road,  and  as  my  sulky 
rose  to  the  top  of  Windy  Hill,  I  got  a  view  of  Goodwin's 
house.  The  flames  were  just  streaming  out  of  the  east  end 
of  the  roof,  and  the  little  wing  on  that  end  of  the  building, 
in  which  the  old  folks  slept,  was  in  a  bright  blaze.  The 
other  end  was  not  much  injured  ;  and  I  saw  at  an  upper 
window  the  figure  of  a  female — she  resembled,  as  well  as  I 
could  judge  by  that  light,  and  at  that  distance,  the  young 
lady  now  present,  and  who  is  said  to  have  occupied  the 
chamber  under  the  roof,  in  the  old  house,  for  some  time 
past ;  though  I  can't  say  I  have  ever  seen  her  there,  unless 
I  saw  her  then,  under  the  circumstances  mentioned.  The 


46  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

old  people  could  not  have  been  as  ailing  this  spring,  as  was 
common  with  them,  as  I  do  not  remember  to  have  been 
stopped  by  them  once.  They  never  were  in  the  habit  of 
sending  for  the  doctor,  but  seldom  let  me  go  past  the  door 
without  calling  me  in." 

"  Did  you  see  any  one  besides  the  figure  of  the  female  at 
the  window  ? " 

"Yes.  There  were  two  men  beneath  that  window,  and 
they  appeared  to  me  to  be  speaking  to,  or  holding  some 
sort  of  communication  with  the  female.  I  saw  gestures, 
and  I  saw  one  or  two  articles  thrown  out  of  the  window. 
My  view  was  only  for  a  minute  ;  and  when  I  reached  the 
house  a  considerable  crowd  had  collected,  and  I  had  no 
opportunity  to  observe,  particularly  in  a  scene  of  such  con- 
fusion." 

"Was  the  female  still  at  the  upper  window  when  you 
reached  the  house?" 

"  No.  I  saw  the  lady  now  present  standing  near  the 
burning  building,  and  held  by  a  -Irian — Peter  Davidson,  I 
think  it  was — who  told  me  she  wanted  to  rush  into  the 
house  to  look  for  the  old  folks." 

"  Did  you  see  any  efforts  of  that  sort  in  her  ? " 

"  Certainly.  She  struggled  to  get  away  from  Peter,  and 
acted  like  a  person  who  wished  to  rush  into  the  burning 
building." 

"Were  the  struggles  natural — or  might  they  not  have 
been  affected  ?  " 

"They  might.  If  it  was  acting,  it  was  good  acting.  I 
have  seen  as  good,  however,  in  my  life." 

The  doctor  had  a  meaning  manner  that  said  more  than 
his  words.  He  spoke  very  low — so  low  as  not  to  be  au- 
dible to  those  who  sat  in  the  further  parts  of  the  room  ; 
which  will  explain  the  perfect  indifference  to  his  testimony 
that  was  manifested  by  the  subject  of  his  remarks.  An 
impression,  however,  was  made  on  the  jury,  which  was 
composed  of  men  much  disposed  to  push  distrust  to  demon- 
stration. 

The  coroner  now  thought  it  time  to  spring  the  principal 
mine,  which  had  been  carefully  preparing  during  the 
recess  in  the  investigation  ;  and  he  ordered  "  Mary  Mon- 
son  "  to  be  called — a  witness  who  had  been  regularly  sum- 
moned to  attend,  among  the  crowd  of  persons  that  had 
received  similar  notices. 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  47 


CHAPTER  IV. 

My  deeds  upon  my  head  !     I  crave  the  law, 
The  penalty  and  forfeit  of  my  bond. — Shy  lock. 

THE  eyes  of  Dunscomb  were  fastened  intently  on  the 
female  stranger,  as  she  advanced  to  the  place  occupied  by 
the  witnesses.  Her  features  denoted  agitation,  certainly  ; 
but  he  saw  no  traces  of  guilt.  It  seemed  so  improbable, 
moreover,  that  a  young  woman  of  her  years  and  appear- 
ance should  be  guilty  of  so  dark  an  offence,  and  that  for 
money,  too,  that  all  the  chances  were  in  favor  of  her  inno- 
cence. Still,  there  were  suspicious  circumstances,  out  of 
all  question,  connected  with  her  situation,  and  he  was  too 
much  experienced  in  the  strange  and  unaccountable  ways 
of  crime,  not  to  be  slow  to  form  his  conclusions. 

The  face  of  Mary  Monson  was  now  fully  exposed  ;  it 
being  customary  to  cause  female  witnesses  to  remove  their 
hats,  in  order  that  the  jurors  may  observe  their  counte- 
nances. And  what  a  countenance  it  was  !  Feminine,  open, 
with  scarce  a  trace  of  the  ordinary  passions  about  it,  and 
illuminated  from  within,  as  we  have  already  intimated. 
The  girl  might  have  been  twenty,  though  she  afterward 
stated  her  age  to  be  a  little  more  than  twenty-one — per- 
haps the  most  interesting  period  of  a  female's  existence. 
The  features  were  not  particularly  regular,  and  an  artist 
might  have  discovered  various  drawbacks  on  her  beauty, 
if  not  positive  defects  ;  but  no  earthly  being  could  have 
quarrelled  with  the  expression.  That  was  a  mixture  of 
intelligence,  softness,  spirit,  and  feminine  innocence,  that 
did  not  fail  to  produce  an  impression  on  a  crowd  which 
had  almost  settled  down  into  a  firm  conviction  of  her  guilt. 
Some  even  doubted,  and  most  of  those  present  thought  it 
very  strange. 

The  reporters  began  to  write,  casting  their  eyes  eagerly 
toward  this  witness  ;  and  John  Dunscomb,  who  sat  near 
them,  soon  discovered  that  there  were  material  discrepan- 
cies in  their  descriptions.  These,  however,  were  amicably 
settled  by  comparing  notes  ;  and  when  the  accounts  of 
that  day's  examination  appeared  in  the  journals  of  the 
time,  they  were  sufficiently  consistent  with  each  other  ; 
much  more  so,  indeed,  than  with  the  truth  in  its  severer 
aspects.  There  was  no  wish  to  mislead,  probably  ;  but  the 


48  THE   WAYS    OF   THE  HOUR. 

whole  system  has  the  capital  defect  of  making  a  trade  of 
news.  The  history  of  passing  events  comes  to  us  suffi- 
ciently clouded  and  obscured  by  the  most  vulgar  and  least 
praiseworthy  of  all  our  lesser  infirmities,  even  when  left  to 
take  what  may  be  termed  its  natural  course  ;  but,  as  soon 
as  the  money-getting  principle  is  applied  to  it,  facts  be- 
come articles  for  the  market,  and  go  up  and  down,  much 
as  do  other  commodities,  in  the  regular  prices  current. 

Mary  Monson  trembled  a  little  when  sworn  ;  but  she 
had  evidently  braced  her  nerves  for  the  trial.  Women  are 
very  capable  of  self-command,  even  in  situations  as  foreign 
to  their  habits  as  this,  if  they  have  time  to  compose  them- 
selves, and  to  come  forward  under  the  influence  of  resolu- 
tions deliberately  formed.  Such  was  probably  the  state  of 
mind  of  this  solitary  and  seemingly  unfriended  young 
woman  ;  for,  though  pale  as  death,  she  was  apparently 
composed.  We  say  unfriended — Mrs.  Jones,  herself,  hav- 
ing given  all  her  friends  to  understand  that  she  had  in- 
vited the  stranger  to  her  house  under  a  sense  of  general 
duty,  and  not  on  account  of  any  private  or  particular 
interest  she  felt  in  her  affairs.  She  was  as  much  a  stranger 
to  her,  as  to  every  one  else  in  the  village. 

"  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  tell  us  your  name,  place  of 
ordinary  residence,  and  usual  occupation?"  asked  the 
coroner,  in  a  dry,  cold  manner,  though  not  until  he  had 
offered  the  witness  a  seat,  in  compliment  to  her  sex. 

If  the  face  of  Mary  Monson  was  pale  the  instant  before, 
it  now  flushed  to  scarlet.  The  tint  that  appears  in  the 
August  evening  sky,  when  heat-lightning  illuminates  the 
horizon,  is  scarce  more  bright  than  that  which  chased  the 
previous  pallid  hue  from  her  cheeks.  Dunscomb  under- 
stood her  dilemma,  and  interposed.  She  was  equally  un- 
willing to  tell  her  real  name,  and  to  give  a  false  one,  under 
the  solemn  responsibility  of  an  oath.  There  is,  probably, 
less  of  deliberate,  calculated  false  swearing,  than  of  any 
other  offence  against  justice;  few  having  the  nerve,  or  the 
moral  obtuseness,  that  is  necessary  to  perjury.  We  do  not 
mean  by  this,  that  all  which  legal  witnesses  say  is  true,  or 
the  half  of  it  ;  for  ignorance,  dull  imaginations  working 
out  solutions  of  half-comprehended  propositions,  and  the 
strong  propensity  we  all  feel  to  see  things  as  we  have  ex- 
pected to  find  them,  in  a  measure  disqualifies  fully  half  of 
those  on  whom  the  law  has  devolved  a  most  important 
duty,  to  discharge  it  with  due  intelligence  and  impar- 
tiality. 


THE   WA  YS    OF   THE  HOUR.  49 

"As  a  member  of  the  bar,  I  interfere  in  behalf  of  the 
witness,"  said  Dunscomb,  rising.  "  She  is  evidently  un- 
acquainted with  her  true  position  here,  and  consequently 
with  her  rights.  Jack,  get  a  glass  of  water  for  the  young 
lady  ; "  and  never  did  Jack  obey  a  request  of  his  uncle 
with  greater  alacrity.  "  A  witness  cannot,  with  propriety, 
be  treated  as  a  criminal,  or  one  suspected,  without  being 
apprised  that  the  law  does  not  require  of  those  thus  cir- 
cumstanced, answers  affecting  themselves." 

Dunscomb  had  listened  more  to  his  feelings  than  to  his 
legal  knowledge,  in  offering  this  objection,  inasmuch  as  no 
very  searching  question  had,  as  yet,  been  put  to  Mary 
Monson.  This  the  coroner  saw,  and  he  did  not  fail  to  let 
it  be  understood  that  he  was  aware  of  the  weakness  of  the 
objection. 

"  Coroners  are  not  governed  by  precisely  the  same  rules 
as  ordinary  committing  magistrates,"  he  quietly  observed, 
<;  though  we  equally  respect  the  rules  of  evidence.  No 
witness  is  obliged  to  answer  a  question  before  an  inquest, 
that  will  criminate  himself,  any  more  than  at  the  Oyer  and 
Terminer.  If  the  lady  will  say  she  does  not  wish  to  tell 
her. real  name,  because  it  may  criminate  her,  I  shall  not  press 
the  question  myself,  or  allow  it  to  be  pressed  by  others." 

"Very  true,  sir,  but  the  law  requires,  in  these  prelimi- 
nary proceedings,  no  more  than  such  accuracy  as  is  con- 
venient in  making  out  the  records.  I  conceive  that  in  this 
particular  case  the  question  might  be  varied  by  asking, 
'You  are  known  by  the  name  of  Mary  Monson,  I  be- 
lieve ?'  " 

"  What  great  harm  can  it  be  to  this  young  female  to  give 
her  real  name,  Mr.  Dunscomb,  as  I  understand  you  are 
that  distinguished  counsellor,  if  she  be  perfectly  innocent 
of  the  death  of  the  Goodwins  ? " 

"  A  perfectly  innocent  person  may  have  good  reasons 
for  wishing  to  conceal  her  name.  These  reasons  obtain 
additional  force  when  we  look  around  us,  and  see  a  com- 
mittee of  reporters,  who  stand  ready  to  transmit  all  that 
passes  to  the  press  ;  but  it  might  better  serve  the  ends  of 
justice  to  allow  me  to  confer  with  the  witness  in  private." 

"  With  all  my  heart,  sir.  Take  her  into  one  of  the  jury 
rooms,  and  I  will  put  another  physician  on  the  stand. 
When  you  are  through  with  your  consultation,  Mr.  Duns- 
comb,  we  shall  be  ready  to  proceed  with  your  client." 

Dunscomb  offered  his  arm  to  the  girl,  and  led  her 
through  the  crowd,  while  a  third  medical  man  was  sworn. 


50  THE   WA  YS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

This  witness  corroborated  all  of  Dr.  Coe's  opinions,  treat- 
ing the  supposition  that  both  the  skeletons  were  those  of 
women  with  very  little  respect.  It  must  be  admitted  that 
the  suspected  stranger  lost  a  great  deal  of  ground  in  the 
course  of  that  half-hour.  In  the  first  place,  the  discussion 
about  the  name  was  received  very  much  as  an  admission 
of  guilt  ;  for  Dunscomb's  argument  that  persons  who  were 
innocent  might  have  many  reasons  for  concealing  their 
names,  did  not  carry  much  weight  with  the  good  people  of 
Biberry.  Then  any  doubts  which  might  have  been  raised 
by  McBrain's  suggestion  concerning  the  nature  of  the 
skeletons,  were  effectually  removed  by  the  corroborating 
testimony  of  Dr.  Short,  who  so  fully  sustained  Dr.  Coe. 
So  much  are  the  Americans  accustomed  to  refer  the  de- 
cision of  nearly  all  questions  to  numbers,  it  scarcely  exag- 
gerates the  truth  to  say  that,  on  the  stand,  the  opinion  of 
half  a  dozen  country  surveyors  touching  a  problem  in 
geometry  would  be  very  apt  to  overshadow  that  of  a  pro- 
fessor from  West  Point  or  old  Yale.  Majorities  are  the 
primum  mobile  of  the  common  mind,  and  he  who  can  get 
the  greatest  number  on  his  side  is  very  apt  to  be  consid- 
ered right,  and  to  reap  the  benefits  of  being  so. 

A  fourth  and  a  fifth  medical  man  were  examined,  and 
they  concurred  in  the  opinions  of  Dr.  Coe  and  his  neigh- 
bors. All  gave  it  as  the  result  of  their  inquiries,  that  they 
believed  the  two  skulls  had  been  broken  with  the  same  in- 
strument, and  that  the  blow,  if  it  did  not  cause  immediate 
death,  must  have  had  the  effect  to  destroy  consciousness. 
As  regards  the  sex,  the  answers  were  given  in  atone  some- 
what supercilious. 

"  Science  is  a  very  good  thing  in  its  place,"  observed 
one  of  these  last  witnesses  ;  "  but  science  is  subject  to 
known  facts.  We  all  know  that  Peter  Goodwin  and  his 
wife  lived  in  that  house  ;  we  all  know  that  Dorothy  Good- 
win was  a  large  woman,  and  that  Peter  Goodwin  was  a 
small  man — that  they  were  about  of  a  height,  in  fact — and 
that  these  skeletons  very  accurately  represent  their  re- 
spective statures.  We  also  know  that  the  house  is  burned, 
that  the  old  couple  are  missing,  that  these  bones  were 
found  in  a  wing  in  which  they  slept,  and  that  no  other 
bones  have  been  found  there.  Now,  to  my  judgment, 
these  facts  carry  as  much  weight,  ay,  even  more  weight, 
than  any  scientific  reasoning  in  the  premises.  I  conclude 
therefore,  that  these  are  the  remains  of  Peter  and  Dorothy 
Goodwin— have  no  doubt  that  they  are,  indeed." 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  51 

"  Am  I  permitted  to  ask  this  witness  a  question,  Mr. 
Coroner  ?"  demanded  Dr.  McBrain. 

"  With  all  my  heart,  sir.  The  jury  wishes  to  ascertain 
all  they  can,  and  our  sole  object  is  justice.  Our  inquests 
are  not  very  rigid  as  to  forms,  and  you  are  welcome  to  ex- 
amine the  witness  as  much  as  you  please." 

"You  knew  Goodwin  ?"  asked  McBrain,  directly  of  the 
witness. 

"  I  did,  sir  ;  quite  well." 

"  Had  he  all  his  teeth,  as  you  remember?" 

"I  think  he  had." 

"On  the  supposition  that  his  front  upper  teeth  were  all 
gone,  and  that  the  skeleton  you  suppose  to  be  his  had  all 
the  front  upper  teeth,  would  you  still  regard  the  facts  you 
have  mentioned  as  better,  or  even  as  good  proof,  as  the 
evidence  of  science,  which  tells  us  that  the  man  who  has 
lost  his  teeth  cannot  possess  them  ? " 

"  I  scarcely  call  that  a  scientific  fact,  at  all,  sir.  Any 
one  may  judge  of  that  circumstance,  as  well  as  a  physician. 
If  it  were  as  you  say,  I  should  consider  the  presence  of  the 
teeth  pretty  good  proof  that  the  skeleton  was  that  of  some 
other  person,  unless  the  teeth  were  the  work  of  a  dentist." 

"  Then  why  not  put  any  other  equally  sure  anatomical 
fact  in  opposition  to  what  is  generally  supposed,  in  connec- 
tion with  the  wing,  the  presence  of  the  men,  and  all  the 
other  circumstances  you  have  mentioned  ?  " 

"  If  there  were  any  other  sure  anatomical  fact,  so  I 
would.  But  in  the  condition  in  which  those  remains  are, 
I  do  not  think  the  best  anatomist  could  say  that  he  can 
distinguish  whether  they  belonged  to  a  man  or  to  a  wo- 
man." 

"  I  confess  that  the  case  has  its  difficulties,"  McBrain 
quietly  answered.  "  Still,  I  incline  to  my  first  opinion.  I 
trust,  Mr.  Coroner,  that  the  skeletons  will  be  carefully 
preserved,  so  long  as  there  may  be  any  reason  to  continue 
these  legal  inquiries  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir.  A  box  is  made  for  that  purpose,  and 
they  will  be  carefully  deposited  in  it  as  soon  as  the  inquest 
adjourns  for  the  day.  It  is  no  unusual  thing,  gentlemen, 
for  doctors  to  disagree." 

This  was  said  with  a  smile,  and  had  the  effect  to  keep 
the  peace.  McBrain,  however,  had  all  the  modesty  of 
knowledge,  and  was  never  disposed  to  show  off  his  superior 
attainments  in  the  faces  of  those  wlio  might  be  supposed 
to  know  less  than  himself.  Nor  was  he  by  any  means  cer 


52  THE    WAYS    OF    THE    I/O  UK. 

tain  of  his  fact  ;  though  greatly  inclined  to  believe  that 
both  the  skeletons  were  those  of  females.  The  heat  had 
been  so  powerful  as  to  derange  in  some  measure,  if  not 
entirely  to  deface,  his  proofs  ;  and  he  was  not  a  man  to 
press  a  fact,  in  a  case  of  this  magnitude,  without  sufficient 
justification.  All  he  now  wanted,  was  to  reserve  a  point 
that  might  have  a  material  influence  hereafter,  in  coming 
to  a  correct  conclusion. 

It  was  fully  an  hour  before  Dunscomb  returned,  bring- 
ing Mary  Monson  on  his  arm.  John  followed  the  latter 
closely,  for,  though  not  admitted  to  the  room  in  which  this 
long  private  conference  had  been  held,  he  had  not  ceased 
to  pace  the  gallery  in  front  of  its  door  during  the  whole 
time.  Dunscomb  looked  very  grave,  and,  as  McBrain 
thought,  he  was  very  expert  in  interpreting  the  language 
of  his  friend's  countenance,  disappointed.  The  girl  her- 
self had  evidently  been  weeping,  and  that  violently.  There 
was  a  paleness  of  the  face,  and  a  tremor  in  the  frame,  too, 
that  caused  the  observant  physician  to  suppose  that,  for  the 
first  time,  she  had  been  made  to  comprehend  that  she  was 
the  object  of  such  dire  distrust.  No  sooner  were  the  two 
in  their  old  seats,  than  the  coroner  prepared  to  renew  the 
suspended  examination. 

"  Witness,"  repeated  that  functionary  with  marked  for- 
mality, "  what  is  your  name  ? " 

The  answer  was  given  in  a  tremulous  voice,  but  with 
sufficient  readiness,  as  if  previously  prepared. 

"  I  am  known,  in  and  around  Biberry,  by  the  name  of 
Mary  Monson." 

The  coroner  paused,  passed  a  hand  over  his  brow,  mused 
a  moment,  and  abandoned  a  half-formed  determination  he 
had  made,  to  push  this  particular  inquiry  as  far  as  he 
could.  To  state  the  truth,  he  was  a  little  afraid  of  Mr. 
Thomas  Dunscomb,  whose  reputation  at  the  bar  was  of  too 
high  a  character  to  have  escaped  his  notice.  On  the  whole, 
therefore,  he  decided  to  accept  the  name  of  Mary  Monson, 
reserving  the  right  of  the  State  to  inquire  further,  here- 
after. 

"  Where  do  you  reside  ?  " 

"  At  present,  in  this  place — lately,  in  the  family  of  Peter 
Goodwin,  whose  remains  are  supposed  to  be  in  this  room." 

"  How  long  had  you  resided  in  that  family  ? " 

"  Nine  weeks,  to  a  day.  I  arrived  in  the  morning,  and 
the  fire  occurred  at  night." 

"  Relate  all  that  you  know  concerning  that  fire,  if  you 


THE   WAYS    OF    THE   IlOl'K.  5^ 

please,  miss — I  call  you  miss,  supposing  you  to  be  unmar- 
ried ? " 

Mary  Monson  merely  made  a  slight  inclination  of  her 
head,  as  one  acknowledges  that  a  remark  is  heard  and  un- 
derstood. This  did  not  more  than  half  satisfy  the  coroner, 
his  wife,  for  reasons  of  her  own,  having  particularly  de- 
sired him  to  ask  the  "  Monson  girl  "  when  she  was  put  on 
the  stand  whether  she  was  or  was  not  married.  But  it  was 
too  late  just  then  to  ascertain  this  interesting  fact,  and  the 
examination  proceeded. 

"  Relate  all  that  you  know  concerning  the  fire,  if  you 
please,  ma'am." 

"  I  know  very  little.  I  was  awakened  by  a  bright  light 
— arose,  and  dressed  myself  as  well  as  I  could,  and  was 
about  to  descend  the  stairs,  when  I  found  I  was  too  late.  I 
then  went  to  a  window,  and  intended  to  throw  my  bed  out, 
and  let  myself  down  on  it,  when  two  men  appeared,  and 
raised  a  ladder  by  which  I  got  safely  out." 

"  Were  any  of  your  effects  saved  ? " 

u  All,  I  believe.  The  same  two  persons  entered  my 
room,  and  passed  my  trunks,  box,  and  carpet-bag,  writing- 
desk,  and  other  articles,  out  of  the  room,  as  well  as  most 
of  its  furniture.  It  was  the  part  of  the  building  last  on 
fire,  and  it  was  safe  entering  the  room  I  occupied,  for  near 
half  an  hour  after  I  escaped." 

"  How  long  had  you  known  the  Goodwins  ?  " 

"  From  the  time  when  I  first  came  to  live  in  their 
house." 

"  Did  you  pass  the  evening  of  the  night  of  the  fire  in 
their  company  ?" 

"  I  did  not.  Very  little  of  my  time  was  passed  in  their 
company,  unless  it  was  at  meals." 

This  answer  caused  a  little  stir  among  the  audience,  of 
whom  much  the  larger  portion  thought  it  contained  an  ad- 
mission to  be  noted.  Why  should  not  a  young  woman 
who  lived  in  a  house  so  much  apart  from  a  general  neigh- 
borhood, not  pass  most  of  her  time  in  the  company  of 
those  with  whom  she  dwelt  ?  "  If  they  were  good  enough 
to  live  with,  I  should  think  they  might  be  good  enough  to 
associate  with,"  whispered  one  of  the  most  active  female 
talkers  of  Biberry,  but  in  a  tone  so  loud  as  to  be  heard  by 
all  near  her. 

This  was  merely  yielding  to  a  national  and  increasing 
susceptibility  to  personal  claims ;  it  being  commonly 
thought  aristocratic  to  refuse  to  associate  with  everybody, 


5*  THE   WAYS    OP   THE   HOUR. 

when  the  person  subject  to  remark  has  any  apparent  acU 
vantages  to  render  such  association  desirable.  All  others 
may  do  as  they  please. 

**  You  did  not,  then,  make  one  of  the  family  regularly, 
but  were  there  for  some  particular  purpose  of  your  own  ?" 
resumed  the  coroner. 

"  I  think,  sir,  on  reflection,  that  you  will  see  this  exam- 
ination is  taking  a  very  irregular  course,"  interposed  Duns- 
comb.  "  It  is  more  like  an  investigation  for  a  commitment, 
than  an  inquest." 

"  The  law  allows  the  freest  modes  of  inquiry  in  all  such 
cases,  Mr.  Dunscomb.  Recollect,  sir,  there  have  been  ar- 
son and  murder — two  of  the  highest  crimes  known  to  the 
books." 

"  I  do  not  forget  it  ;  and  recognize  not  only  all  your 
rights,  sir,  but  your  duties.  Nevertheless,  this  young  lady 
has  rights,  too,  and  is  to  be  treated  distinctly  in  one  of  two 
characters  ;  as  a  witness,  or  as  a  party  accused.  If  in  the 
latter,  I  shall  at  once  advise  her  to  answer  no  more  ques- 
tions in  this  state  of  the  case.  My  duty,  as  her  counsel 
requires  me  to  say  as  much." 

"  She  has,  then,  regularly  retained  you,  Mr.  Dunscomb  .** 
the  coroner  asked,  with  interest. 

"  That,  sir,  is  a  matter  between  her  and  myself.  I  ap- 
pear here  as  counsel,  and  shall  claim  the  rights  of  one.  I 
know  that  you  can  carry  on  this  inquest  without  my  inter- 
ference, if  you  see  fit  ;  but  no  one  can  exclude  the  citizen 
from  the  benefit  of  advice.  Even  the  new  code,  as  extrav- 
agant and  high-flying  in  invention  as  ever  came  from  the 
«isguided  ingenuity  of  man,  will  allow  of  this." 

''There  is  no  wish,  Mr.  Dunscomb,  to  put  any  obstacles 
in  your  way.  Let  every  man  do  his  whole  duty.  Your 
client  can  certainly  refuse  to  answer  any  questions  she 
may  please,  on  the  ground  that  the  answer  may  tend  to 
criminate  herself  ;  and  so  may  any  one  else." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir  ;  the  law  is  still  more  indulgent 
in  these  preliminary  proceedings.  A  party  who  knows 
himself  to  be  suspected,  has  a  right  to  evade  questions 
that  may  militate  against  his  interests  ;  else  would  the 
boasted  protection  which  the  law  so  far  throws  around 
every  one,  that  he  need  not  be  his  own  accuser,  become  a 
mere  pretence." 

"  I  shall  endeavor  to  put  my  questions  in  such  a  way  as 
to  give  her  the  benefits  of  all  her  rights.  Miss  Monson,  it 
is  said  that  you  have  been  seen,  since  the  fire,  to  have  some 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR,  55 

gold  in  your  possession  ;  have  you  any  objection  to  let  that 
gold  be  seen  by  the  jury  ?" 

"  None  in  the  world,  sir.  I  have  a  few  gold  pieces — 
here  they  are,  in  my  purse.  They  do  not  amount  to 
much,  either  in  numbers  or  value.  You  are  at  liberty  to 
examine  them  as  much  as  you  please." 

Dunscomb  had  betrayed  a  little  uneasiness  at  this  ques- 
tion ;  but  the  calm,  steady  manner  in  which  the  young 
woman  answered,  and  the  coolness  with  which  she  put 
her  purse  into  the  coroner's  hand,  -reassured,  or  rather 
surprised  him.  He  remained  silent,  therefore,  interpos- 
ing no  objection  to  the  examination. 

"  Here  are  seven  half  eagles,  two  quarter-eagles,  and  a 
strange  coin  that  I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  seen  be- 
fore," said  the  coroner.  "  What  do  you  call  this  piece, 
Mr.  Dunscomb  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  sir  ;  I  do  not  remember  ever  to 
have  seen  the  coin  before,  myself." 

"  It  is  an  Italian  coin,  of  the  value  of  about  twenty  dol- 
lars, they  tell  me,"  answered  Mary,  quietly.  "  I  think  it 
is  called  after  the  reigning  sovereign,  whoever  he  may  be. 
I  got  it,  in  exchange  for  some  of  our  own  money,  from  an 
emigrant  from  Europe,  and  kept  it  as  a  thing  a  little  out 
of  the  common  way." 

The  simplicity,  distinctness,  not  to  say  nerve,  with 
which  this  was  said,  placed  Dunscomb  still  more  at  his 
ease,  and  he  now  freely  let  the  inquiry  take  its  course. 
All  this  did  not  prevent  his  being  astonished  that  one  so 
young,  and  seemingly  so  friendless,  should  manifest  so 
much  coolness  and  self-possession,  under  circumstances 
so  very  trying.  Such  was  the  fact,  however  ;  and  he  was 
fain  to  await  further  developments,  in  order  better  to 
comprehend  the  character  of  his  client. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Pope  present?"  inquired  the  coroner.  "The 
lady  who  told  us  yesterday  she  had  seen  the  specie  of  the 
late  Mrs.  Goodwin,  during  the  lifetime  of  the  latter?' 

It  was  almost  superfluous  to  ask  if  any  particular  person 
were  present,  as  nearly  all  Biberry  were  in,  or  about,  the 
court-house.  Up  started  the  widow,  therefore,  at  this  ap- 
peal, and  coming  forward  with  alacrity,  she  was  imme- 
diately sworn,  which  she  had  not  been  the  previous  day, 
and  went  on  the  stand  as  a  regular  witness. 

"  Your  name  ? "  observed  the  coroner. 

"Abigail  Pope — folks  write  'relict  of  John  Pope,  de- 
ceased,' in  all  my  law  papers." 


56  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

"  Very  well,  Mrs.  Pope  ;  the  simple  name  will  suffice 
for  the  present  purposes.  Do  you  reside  in  this  neigh- 
borhood?" 

"  In  Biberry.  I  was  born,  brought  up,  married,  be- 
came a  widow,  and  still  dwell,  all  within  half-a-mile  of  this 
spot.  My  maiden  name  was  Dickson." 

Absurd  and  forward  as  these  answers  may  seem  to  most 
persons,  they  had  an  effect  on  the  investigation  that  was 
then  gojng  on  in  Biberry.  Most  of  the  audience  saw, 
and  felt,  the  difference  between  the  frank  statements  of 
the  present  witness,  and  the  reserve  manifested  by  the 
last. 

"  Now  why  couldn't  that  Mary  Monson  answer  all  these 
questions,  just  as  well  as  Abigail  Pope  ? "  said  one  female 
talker  to  a  knot  of  listeners.  "  She  has  a  glib  enough 
tongue  in  her  head,  if  she  only  sees  fit  to  use  it !  I'll  en- 
gage no  one  can  answer  more  readily,  when  she  wishes  to 
let  a  thing  out.  There's  a  dreadful  history  behind  the 
curtain,  in  my  judgment,  about  that  same  young  woman, 
could  a  body  only  get  at  it." 

"  Mr.  Sanford  will  get  at  it,  before  he  has  done  with 
her,  I'll  engage,"  answered  a  friend.  "  I  have  heard  it 
said  he  is  the  most  investigating  coroner  in  the  State,  when 
he  sets  about  a  case  in  good  earnest.  He'll  be  very  apt 
to  make  the  most  of  this,  for  we  never  have  had  anything 
one-half  so  exciting  in  Biberry  as  these  murders  !  I  have 
long  thought  we  were  rather  out  of  the  way  of  the  rest  of 
the  world  until  how  ;  but  our  time  has  come,  and  we 
sha'n't  very  soon  hear  the  last  of  it  ! " 

"It's  all  in  the  papers  already!"  exclaimed  a  third. 
"  Biberry  looks  as  grand  as  York,  or  Albany,  in  the  col- 
umns of  every  paper  from  town  this  morning !  I  declare  it 
did  me  good  to  see  our  little  place  holding  up  its  head 
among  the  great  of  the  earth,  as  it  might  be ' 

What  else,  in  the  wray  of  local  patriotism,  may  have  es- 
caped this  individual  cannot  now  be  known,  the  coroner 
drawing  off  her  auditors,  by  the  question  next  put  to  the 
widow. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  any  gold  coins  in  the  possession  of 
the  late  Mrs.  Goodwin?"  asked  that  functionary. 

"Several  times — I  don't  know  but  I  might  say  often. 
Five  or  six  times  at  least.  I  used  to  sew  for  the  old  lady 
and  you  know  how  it  is  when  a  body  works,  in  that  way, 
in  a  family — it's  next  thing,  I  do  suppose,  to  being  a  doc 
tor,  so  far  as  secrets  go." 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  57 

"  Should  you  know  any  of  that  coin  were  you  to  see  it 
again,  Mrs.  Pope  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  might.  There's  one  piece,  in  partic'lar,  that 
I  suppose  I  should  know  anywhere.  It's  a  wonderful 
looking  piece  of  money,  and  true  Californy,  I  conclude." 

"  Did  any  of  Mrs.  Goodwin's  gold  coins  bear  a  resem- 
blance to  this  ? "  showing  a  half-eagle. 

"  Yes,  sir — that's  a  five-dollar  piece — I've  had  one  of 
them  myself  in  the  course  of  my  life." 

"Mrs.  Goodwin  had  coins  similar  to  this,  I  then  under- 
stand you  to  say  ? " 

"  She  had  as  many  as  fifty,  I  should  think.  Altogether 
she  told  me  she  had  as  much  as  four  hundred  dollars  in 
that  stocking  !  I  remember  the  sum,  for  it  sounded  like  a 
great  deal  for  anybody  to  have  who  wasn't  a  bank  like. 
It  quite  put  me  in  mind  of  the  place  ers." 

"Was  there  any  coin  like  this?"  showing  the  widow 
the  Italian  piece. 

"  That's  the  piece  !  I'd  know  it  among  a  thousand  !  I 
had  it  in  my  hands  as  much  as  five  minutes,  trying  to  read 
the  Latin  on  it,  and  make  it  out  into  English.  All  the 
rest  was  American  gold,  the  old  lady  told  me  ;  but  this 
piece  she  said  was  foreign." 

This  statement  produced  a  great  sensation  in  the  court- 
room. Although  Mrs.  Pope  was  flippant,  a  gossip,  and  a 
little  notorious  for  meddling  with  her  neighbors'  concerns, 
no  one  suspected  her  of  fabricating  such  a  story,  under 
oath.  The  piece  of  gold  passed  from  juror  to  juror  ;  and 
each  man  among  them  felt  satisfied  that  he  would  know 
the  coin  again,  after  an  interval  of  a  few  weeks.  Duns- 
comb  probably  put  less  faith  in  this  bit  of  testimony,  than 
any  other  person  present  ;  and  he  was  curious  to  note  its 
effect  on  his  client.  To  his  great  surprise  she  betrayed 
no  uneasiness  ;  her  countenance  maintaining  a  calm  that 
he  now  began  to  apprehend  denoted  a  practised  art ;  and 
he  manifested  a  desire  to  examine  the  piece  of  gold  for 
himself.  It  was  put  in  his  hand,  and  he  glanced  at  its 
face  a  little  eagerly.  It  was  an  unusual  coin  ;  but  it  had 
no  defect  or  mark  that  might  enable  one  to  distinguish  be- 
tween it  and  any  other  piece  of  a  similar  impression.  The 
coroner  interpreted  the  meaning  of  his  eye,  and  suspended 
the  examination  of  the  widow,  to  question  Mary  Monson 
herself. 

"  Your  client  sees  the  state  of  the  question,  Mr.  Duns- 
cornb,"  he  said  ;  "  and  you  will  look  to  her  rights.  Mine 


58  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

authorize  me,  as  I  understand  them,  to  inquire  of  her 
concerning  a  few  facts  in  relation  to  this  piece  of  money." 

"  I  will  answer  your  questions,  sir,  without  any  hesita- 
tion," the  accused  replied,  with  a  degree  of  steadiness  that 
Dunscomb  deemed  astonishing. 

"  How  long  has  this  piece  of  gold  been  in  your  posses- 
sion, if  you  please,  miss?" 

"About  a  twelvemonth.  I  began  to  collect  the  gold  I 
have,  very  nearly  a  year  since." 

"  Has  it  been  in  your  possession,  uninterruptedly,  all 
that  time." 

"  So  far  as  I  know,  sir,  it  has.  A  portion  of  the  time, 
and  a  large  portion  of  it,  it  has  not  been  kept  in  my  purse  ; 
but  I  should  think  no  one  could  have  meddled  with  it,  when 
it  has  been  elsewhere." 

"  Have  you  anything  to  remark  on  the  testimony  just 
given  ?" 

"  It  is  strictly  true.  Poor  Mrs.  Goodwin  certainly  had 
the  store  of  gold  mentioned  by  Mrs.  Pope,  for  she  once 
showed  it  to  me.  I  rather  think  she  was  fond  of  such 
things ;  and  had  a  pleasure  in  counting  her  hoards,  and 
showing  them  to  other  persons.  I  looked  over  her  coins  ; 
and  finding  she  was  fond  of  those  that  are  a  little  uncom- 
mon, I  gave  her  one  or  two  of  those  that  I  happened  to 
own.  No  doubt,  Mrs.  Pope  saw  the  counterpart  of  this 
piece,  but  surely  not  the  piece  itself." 

"  I  understand  you  to  say,  then,  that  Mrs.  Goodwin  had 
a  gold  coin  similar  to  this,  which  gold  coin  came  from 
yourself.  What  did  Mrs.  Goodwin  allow  you  in  the  ex- 
change ? " 

"  Sir  ? " 

"  How  much  did  you  estimate  the  value  of  that  Italian 
piece  at,  and  in  what  money  did  Mrs.  Goodwin  pay  you 
for  it  ?  It  is  necessary  to  be  particular  in  these  cases." 

"  She  returned  me  nothing  for  the  coin,  sir.  It  was  a 
present  from  me  to  her,  and  of  course  not  to  be  paid 
for." 

This  answer  met  with  but  little  favor.  It  did  not  ap- 
pear to  the  people  of  Biberry  at  all  probable  that  an  un- 
known, and  seemingly  friendless  young  woman,  who  had 
been  content  to  dwell  two  months  in  the  "garret-room  " 
of  the  "old  Goodwin  house,"  faring  none  of  the  best,  cer- 
tainly, and  neglecting  so  many  superior  tenements  and 
tables  that  were  to  be  met  with  on  every  side  of  her, 
would  be  very  likely  to  give  away  a  piece  of  gold  of  that 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  59 

unusual  size.  It  is  true,  we  are  living  in  a  marvellous  age, 
so  far  as  this  metal  is  concerned  ;  but  the  California!!  gold 
had  not  then  arrived  in  any  great  quantity,  and  the  people 
of  the  country  are  little  accustomed  to  see  anything  but 
silver  and  paper,  which  causes  them  to  attach  an  unwonted 
value  to  the  more  precious  metal.  Even  the  coroner  took 
this  view  of  the  matter  ;  ,and  Dunscomb  saw  that  the  ex- 
planation just  made  by  his  client  was  thought  to  prove 
too  much. 

"  Are  you  in  the  habit,  miss,  of  giving  away  pieces  of 
gold  ?"  asked  one  of  the  jurors. 

"  That  question  is  improper,"  interposed  Mr.  Dunscomb. 
"  No  one  can  have  a  right  to  put  it." 

The  coroner  sustained  this  objection,  and  no  answer  was 
given.  As  Mrs.  Pope  had  suggested  that  others,  besides 
herself,  had  seen  Mrs.  Goodwin's  stocking,  four  more  wit- 
nesses were  examined  to  this  one  point.  They  were  all 
females,  who  had  been  admitted  by  the  deceased,  in  the 
indulgence  of  her  passion,  to  feast  their  eyes  with  a  sight 
of  her  treasure.  Only  one,  however,  of  these  four  pro- 
fessed to  have  any  recollection  of  the  particular  coin  that 
had  now  become,'  as  it  might  be,  the  pivoting  point  in  the 
inquiry ;  and  her  recollections  were  by  no  means  as  clear 
as  those  of  the  widow.  She  thought  she  had  seen  such  a 
piece  of  gold  in  Mrs.  Goodwin's  possession,  though  she 
admitted  she  was  not  allowed  to  touch  any  of  the  money, 
which  was  merely  held  up,  piece  by  piece,  before  her  ad- 
miring eyes,  in  the  hands  of  its  prop&r  owner.  It  was  in 
this  state  of  the  inquiry  that  Dunscomb  remarked  to  the 
coroner,  "  that  it  was  not  at  all  surprising  a  woman  who 
was  so  fond  of  exposing  her  treasure  should  be  robbed 
and  murdered!"  This  remark,  however,  failed  of  its  in- 
tended effect,  in  consequence  of  the  manner  in  which  sus- 
picion had  become  riveted,  as  it  might  be,  through  the 
testimony  of  Mrs.  Pope,  on  the  stranger  who  had  so  mys- 
teriously come  to  lodge  with  the  Goodwins.  The  general 
impression  now  appeared  to  be  that  the  whole  matter  had 
been  previously  arranged,  an4.  that  the  stranger  had  come 
to  dwell  in  the  house  expressly  to  obtain  facilities  for  the 
commission  of  the  crime. 

A  witness  who  was  related  to  the  deceased,  who  was  ab- 
sent from  home,  but  had  been  told,  by  means  of  the  wires, 
to  return,  and  who  had  intimated  an  intention  to  comply, 
was  still  wanting ;  and  the  inquest  was  again  adjourned 
for  j*n  hour,  in  order  to  allow  of  the  arrival  of  a  stage  from 


60  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HO  UK. 

town.  During  this  interval,  Dunscomb  ascertained  how 
strongly  the  current  was  setting  against  his  client.  A  hun- 
dred little  circumstances  were  cited,  in  confirmation  of 
suspicions  that  had  now  gained  a  firm  footing,  and  which 
were  so  nearly  general  as  to  include  almost  every  person 
of  any  consequence  in  the  place.  What  appeared  strangest 
to  Dunscomb  was  the  composure  of  the  young  girl  who 
was  so  likely  to  be  formally  accused  of  crimes  so  heinous. 
He  had  told  her  of  the  nature  of  the  distrust  that  was  at- 
tached to  her  situation,  and  she  received  his  statement 
with  a  degree  of  emotion  that,  at  first,  had  alarmed  him. 
But  an  unaccountable  calmness  soon  succeeded  this  burst 
of  feeling,  and  he  had  found  it  necessary  to  draw  confi- 
dence in  the  innocence  of  his  client  from  that  strangely 
illuminated  countenance,  to  study  which  was  almost  certain 
to  subdue  a  man  by  its  power.  While  thus  gazing  at  the 
stranger,  he  could  not  believe  her  guilty  ;  but,  while  re- 
flecting on  all  the  facts  of  the  case,  he  sawT  how  difficult 
it  might  be  to  persuade  others  to  entertain  the  same 
opinion.  Nor  were  there  circumstances  wanting  to  shake 
his  own  faith  in  expression,  sex,  years,  and  all  the  other 
probabilities.  Mary  Monson  had  declined  entering  at  all 
into  any  account  of  her  previous  life  ;  evaded  giving  her 
real  name  even  to  him  ;  carefully  abstained  from  all  allu" 
sions  that  might  furnish  any  clew  to  her  former  place 
of  abode,  or  to  any  fact  that  would  tend  to  betray  hef 
secret. 

At  the  appointed  hour  the  stage  arrived,  bringing  the 
expected  witness.  His  testimony  went  merely  to  corrobo- 
rate the  accounts  concerning  the  little  hoard  of  gold  that 
his  kinswoman  had  undeniably  possessed,  and  to  the  cir- 
cumstance that  she  always  kept  it  in  a  particular  drawer 
of  her  bureau.  The  bureau  had  been  saved,  for  it  did  not 
stand  in  the  sleeping-room  of  the  deceased,  but  had  formed 
a  principal  embellishment  of  her  little  parlor,  and  the 
money  was  not  in  it.  What  was  more,  each  drawer  was 
carefully  locked,  but  no  keys  were  to  be  found.  As  these 
were  articles  not  likely  to  be  melted  under  any  heat  to 
which  they  might  have  been  exposed,  a  careful  but  fruit- 
less search  had  been  made  for  them  among  the  ruins. 
They  were  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

About  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  the  jury  brought  in 
the  result  of  their  inquest.  It  was  a  verdict  of  murder  in 
the  first  degree,  committed,  in  the  opinion  of  the  jurors, 
by  a  female  who  was  known  by  the  name  of  Mary  Monson, 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  6l 

With  the  accusation  of  arson,  the  coroner's  inquest,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  had  no  connection.  A  writ  was  immedi' 
ately  issued,  arid  the  accused  arrested. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  It  was  the  English,"  Kasper  cried, 

"  Who  put  the  French  to  rout; 
But  what  they  killed  each  other  for, 

I  could  not  well  make  out. 
But  everybody  said,"  quoth  he, 

"That  'twas  a  famous  victory." — SoUTHEY. 

THE  following  day,  after  an  early  breakfast,  Dunscomb 
and  his  friend  the  doctor  were  on  their  way  back  to  town. 
The  former  had  clients  and  courts,  and  the  latter  patients, 
who  were  not  to  be  neglected,  to  say  nothing  of  the  claims 
of  Sarah  and  Mrs.  Updyke.  John  and  Michael  remained 
at  Biberry  ;  the  first  being  detained  there  by  divers  com- 
missions connected  with  the  comforts  and  treatment  of 
Mary  Monson,  but  still  more  by  his  own  inclinations  ;  and 
the  last  remaining,  somewhat  against  his  wishes,  as  a  com- 
panion to  the  brother  of  her  who  so  strongly  drew  him 
back  to  New  York. 

As  the  commitment  was  for  offences  so  serious,  crimes 
as  grave  as  any  known  to  the  law,  bail  would  not  have  been 
accepted,  could  any  have  been  found.  We  ought  not  to 
speak  with  too  much  confidence,  however,  on  this  last 
point;  for  Dr.  McBrain,  a  man  of  very  handsome  estate, 
the  result  of  a  liberal  profession  steadily  and  intelligently 
pursued,  was  more  than  half  disposed  to  offer  himself  for 
one  of  the  sureties,  and  to  go  and  find  a  second  among  his 
friends.  Nothing,  indeed,  prevented  his  doing  so,  but 
Dunscomb's  repeated  assurances  that  no  bondsmen  would 
be  received.  Even  charming  young  women,  when  they 
stand  charged  with  murder  and  arson,  must  submit  to  be 
incarcerated,  until  their  innocence  is  established  in  due 
form  of  law  ;  or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  in  effect,  until 
the  caprice,  impulses,  ignorance,  or  corruption  of  a  jury 
acquits  them. 

The  friends  did  not  entirely  agree  in  their  manner  of 
viewing  this  affair.  The  doctor  was  firmly  impressed  with 
the  conviction  of  Mary  Monson's  innocence,  while  Duns- 
comb,  more  experienced  in  the  ways  of  crime  and  the  in* 


62  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

firmities  of  the  human  heart,  had  his  misgivings.  So  many 
grounds  of  suspicion  had  occurred,  or  been  laid  open  to 
his  observation,  during  the  hour  of  private  communication, 
that  it  was  not  easy  for  one  who  had  seen  so  much  of  the 
worst  side  of  human  nature,  to  cast  them  off  under  the 
mere  influence  of  a  graceful  form,  winning  manner,  and 
bright  countenance.  Then,  the  secondary  facts,  well  estab- 
lished, and,  in  one  important  particular,  admitted  by  the 
party  accused,  were  not  of  a  character  to  be  overlooked. 
It  often  happens,  and  Dunscomb  well  knew  it,  that  inno- 
cence appears  under  a  repulsive  exterior,  while  guilt  con- 
ceals itself  in  forms  and  aspects  so  fair,  as  to  deceive  all 
but  the  wary  and  experienced. 

"  I  hope  that  the  comfort  of  Miss  Monson  has  been  prop- 
perly  attended  to,  since  she  must  be  confined  for  a  few 
days,"  said  McBrain,  while  he  took  a  last  look  at  the  little 
jail,  as  the  carriage  passed  the  brow  of  the  hill.  "Justice 
can  ask  no  more  than  security." 

"It  is  a  blot  on  the  character  of  the  'times,  and  on  this 
country  in  particular,"  answered  Dunscomb,  coldly,  "that 
so  little  attention  is  paid  to  the  jails.  We  are  crammed 
with  false  philanthropy  in  connection  with  convicted 
rogues,  who  ought  to  be  made  to  feel  the  penalties  of 
their  offences  ;  while  we  are  not  even  just  in  regard  to 
those  who  are  only  accused,  many  of  whom  are  really  in- 
nocent. But  for  my  interference,  this  delicate  and  friend- 
less girl  would,  in  all  probability,  have  been  immured  in  a 
common  dungeon." 

"  What !  before  her  guilt  is  established  ?  " 
<  "  Relatively,  her  treatment  after  conviction  would  be 
far  more  humane  than  previously  to  that  event.  Comfort- 
able, well-furnished,  but  secure  apartments  ought  to  be 
provided  for  the  accused  in  every  county  in  the  State,  as 
acts  of  simple  justice,  before  another  word  of  mawkish 
humanity  is  uttered  on  the  subject  of  the  treatment  of 
recognized  criminals.  It  is  wonderful  what  a  disposition 
there  is  among  men  to  run  into  octaves,  in  everything  they 
do,  forgetting  that  your  true  melody  is  to  be  found  only 
in  the  simpler  and  more  natural  notes.  There  is  as  much 
of  the  falsetto  nowadays  in  philanthropy  as  in  music." 

"And  this  poor  girl  is  thrust  into  a  dungeon  ? " 

"  No  ;  it  is  not  quite  as  bad  as  that.  The  jail  has  one 
decent  apartment,  that  was  fitted  up  for  the  comfort  of  a 
prize-fighter,  who  was  confined  in  it  not  long  since  ;  and  as 
the  room  is  sufficiently  secure,  I  have  persuaded  the  jailer's 


THE   IV AYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  63 

wife  to  put  Mary  Monson   in   it.     Apart  from  loss  of  air 
and   exercise,   and   the   happiness  of  knowing  herself  re 
spected  and  beloved,  the  girl  will  not   be  very  badly  off 
there.     I  dare  say,  the  room  is  quite  as  good  as  that  she 
occupied  under  the  roof  of  those  unfortunate  Goodwins," 

"  How  strange  that  a  female  of  her  appearance  should 
have  been  the  inmate  of  such  a  place  !  She  does  not  seem 
to  want  money,  either.  You  saw  the  gold  she  had  in  her 
purse  ?  " 

"  Ay  ;  it  were  better  had  that  gold  not  been  there,  or 
not  seen.  I  sincerely  wish  it  had  been  nothing  but  silver." 

"You  surely  do  not  agree  with  that  silly  woman,  the 
Widow  Pope,  as  they  call  her,  in  believing  that  she  has  got 
the  money  of  those  persons  who  have  been  murdered?" 

"  On  that  subject,  I  choose  to  suspend  my  opinion — I 
may,  or  I  may  not,  as  matters  shall  turn  up.  She  has 
money  ;  and  in  sufficient  quantity  to  buy  herself  out  of 
jeopardy.  At  least,  she  offered  me  a  fee  of  a  hundred  dol- 
lars, in  good  city  paper." 

"Which  you  did  not  take,  Tom?" 

"Why  not?  It  is  my  trade,  and  I  live  by  it.  Why  not 
take  her  fee,  if  you  please,  sir  ?  Does  the  Widow  Updyke 
teach  you  such  doctrines  ?  Will  you  drive  about  town  for 
nothing?  Why  not  take  her  fee,  Master  Ned?" 

"  Why  not,  sure  enough  !  That  girl  has  bewitched  me, 
I  believe  ;  and  that  is  the  solution." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Ned,  unless  there  is  a  stop  put  to  this 
folly,  I'll  make  Mrs.  Updyke  acquainted  with  the  whole 
matter,  and  put  an  end  to  nuptials  No.  3.  Jack  is  head  and 
ears  in  love,  already  ;  and  here  you  are  flying  off  at  a  tan- 
gent from  all  your  engagements  and  professions,  to  fall  at 
the  feet  of  an  unknown  girl  of  twenty,  who  appears  be- 
fore you,  on  a  first  interview,  in  the  amiable  light  of  one 
accused  of  the  highest  crimes." 

"  And  of  which  I  no  more  believe  her  guilty  than  I  be- 
lieve you  to  be  guilty  of  them." 

"  Umph  !  '  Time  will  show  ; '  which  is  the  English,  I 
suppose,  of  the  *  nous  verrons '  that  is  flying  about  in  the 
newspapers.  Yes,  she  has  money  to  buy  three  or  four 
journals,  to  get  up  a  *  sympathy '  in  her  behalf,  when  her 
acquittal  would  be  almost  certain,  if  her  trial  were  not  a 
legal  impossibility.  I  am  not  sure  it  is  not  her  safest 
course,  in  the  actual  state  of  the  facts." 

"Would  you  think,  Dunscomb,  of  advising  any  one  who 
looked  up  to  you  for  counsel,  to  take  such  a  tourse?" 


64  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

"  Certainly  not — and  you  know  it,  well  enough,  Mo 
Brain  ;  but  that  does  not  lessen,  or  increase,  the  chances  of 
the  expedient.  The  journals  have  greatly  weakened  their 
own  power,  by  the  manner  in  which  they  have  abused  it ; 
but  enough  still  remains  to  hoodwink,  not  to  say  to  over- 
shadow, justice.  The  law  is  very  explicit  and  farsighted  as 
to  the  consequences  of  allowing  any  one  to  influence  the 
public  mind  in  matters  of  its  own  adminstration  ;  but  in  a 
country  like  this,  in  which  the  virtue  and  intelligence  of  the 
people  are  said  to  be  \\\t  prim-urn  mobile  in  everything,  there 
is  no  one  to  enforce  the  ordinances  that  the  wisdom  of  our 
ancestors  has  bequeathed  to  us.  Any  editor  of  a  news- 
paper who  publishes  a  sentence  reflecting  on  the  character 
or  rights  of  a  party  to  a  pending  suit,  is  guilty  at  common 
law,,  of  what  the  books  call  a  *  libel  on  the  courts  of  justice,' 
and  can  be  punished  for  it,  as  for  any  other  misdemeanor ; 
yet,  you  can  see  for  yourself,  how  little  such  a  provision, 
healthful  and  most  wise — nay,  essential  as  it  is  to  justice — 
is  looked  down  by  the  mania  which  exists  of  putting  every- 
thing into  print.  When  one  remembers  that  very  little  of 
what  he  reads  is  true,  it  is  fearful  to  reflect  that  a  system 
of  which  the  whole  merit  depends  on  its  power  to  extract 
facts,  and  to  do  justice  on  their  warranty,  should  be  com- 
pletely overshadowed  by  another  contrivance  which,  when 
stripped  of  its  pretension,  and  regarded  in  its  real  colors, 
is  nothing  more  than  one  of  the  ten  thousand  schemes  to 
make  money  that  surrounds  us,  with  a  little  higher  preten- 
sion than  common  to  virtue." 

"'Completely  overshadowed '  are  strong  words,  Duns- 
comb  ! " 

"  Perhaps  they  are,  and  they  may  need  a  little  qualify- 
ing. Overshadowed  often — much  too  often,  however,  is 
not  a  particle  stronger  than  I  am  justified  in  using.  Every 
one,  who  thinks  at  all,  sees  and  feels  the  truth  of  this  ;  but 
here  is  the  weak  side  of  a  popular  government.  The  laws 
are  enforced  by  means  of  public  virtue,  and  public  virtue, 
like  private  virtue,  is  very  frail.  We  all  are  willing  enough 
to  admit  the  last,  as  regards  our  neighbors  at  least,  while 
there  seems  to  exist,  in  most  minds,  a  species  of  idolatrous 
veneration  for  the  common  sentiment,  as  sheer  a  quality 
of  straw,  as  any  image  of  a  lover  drawn  by  the  most  heated 
imagination  of  sixteen." 

"  You  surely  do  'not  disregard  public  opinion,  Tom,  or 
set  it  down  as  unworthy  of  all  respect !" 

"  By  no   means  ;  if  you  mean  that  opinion  which  is  the 


THE  WAYS  OF  THE  HOUR.  w     65 

result  of  deliberate  judgment,  and  has  a  direct  connection 
with  our  religion,  morals,  and  manners.  That  is  a  public 
opinion  to  which  we  all  ought  to  defer,  when  it  is  fairly 
made  up,  and  has  been  distinctly  and  independently  pro- 
nounced ;  most  especially  when  it  conies  from  high  quar- 
ters, and  not  from  low.  But  the  country  is  full  of  simu- 
lated public  opinion,  in  the  first  place,  and  it  is  not^aiways 
easy  to  tell  the  false  from  the  true.  Yes,  the  country  is 
full  of  what  I  shall  call  an  artificial  public  opinion,  that  has 
been  got  up  to  effect  a  purpose,  and  to  that  no  wise  man 
will  defer,  if  he  can  help  it.  Now  look  at  our  scheme  of 
administering  justice.  Twelve  men  taken  out  of  the 
bosom  of  the  community,  by  a  species  of  lottery,  are  set 
apart  to  pronounce  on  your  fortune,  or  mine — nay,  to  ut- 
ter the  fearful  words  of  'guilty,'  or  'not  guilty.'  All  the 
accessories  of  this  plan,  as  they  exist  here,  make  against 
its  success.  In  the  first  place,  the  jurors  are  paid,  and  that 
just  enough  to  induce  the  humblest  on  the  list  to  serve, 
and  not  enough  to  induce  the  educated  and  intelligent.  It 
is  a  day-laborer's  jvages,  and  the  day-laborer  will  be  most 
likely  to  profit  by  it.  Men  who  are  content  to  toil  for 
seventy-five  cents  a  day  are  very  willing  to  serve  on  juries 
for  a  dollar  ;  while  those  whose  qualifications  enable  them 
to  obtain  enough  to  pay  their  fines,  disregard  the  penalty, 
and  stay  away." 

"Why  is  not  an  evil  as  flagrant  as  this  remedied?  I 
should  think  the  whole  bar  would  protest  against  it." 

"  With  what  result  ?  Who  cares  for  the  bar  ?  Legisla- 
tors alone  can  change  this  system,  and  men  very  different 
from  those  who  are  now  sent  must  go  to  the  legislature, 
before  one  is  found,  honest  enough,  or  bold  enough,  to  get 
up  and  tell  the  people  they  are  not  all  fit  to  be  trusted.  No, 
no  ;  this  is  not  the  way  of  the  hour.  We  have  a  cycle  in 
opinion  to  make,  and  it  may  be  that  when  the  round  is  fairly 
made,  men  may  come  back  to  their  senses,  and  perceive 
the  necessity  of  fencing  in  justice  by  some  of  the  useful 
provisions  that  we  are  now  so  liberally  throwing  away. 
To  tell  you  the  truth,  Ned,  the  State  is  submitting  to  the 
influence  of  two  of  the  silliest  motives  that  can  govern  men 
— ultra  conservatism,  and  ultra  progress  ;  the  one  holding 
back,  often,  to  preserve  that  which  is  not  worth  keeping ; 
and  the  other  '  going  ahead,'  as  it  is  termed,  merely  for  the 
sake  of  boasting  of  their  onward  tendencies.  Neither 
course  is  in  the  least  suited  to  the  actual  wants  of  society, 
and  each  is  pernicious  in  its  way." 


66  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

"  It  is  thought,  however,  that  when  opinion  thus  strug* 
gles  with  opinion,  a  healthful  compromise  is  made,  in 
which  society  finds  its  advantage." 

"  The  cant  of  mediocrity,  depend  on  it,  Ned.  In  the 
first  place,  there  is  no  compromise  about  it  ;  one  side  or 
the  other  gains  the  victory  ;  and  as  success  is  sustained  by 
numbers,  the  conquerors  push  their  advantages  to  the 
utmost.  They  think  of  their  own  grosser  interests,  their 
passions  and  prejudices,  rather  than  of  any  'healthful 
compromise,'  as  you  term  it.  What  compromise  is  there 
in  this  infernal  code  ?  "  Dunscomb  was  an  ultra  himself, 
in  opposition  to  a  system  that  has  a  good  deal  of  that 
which  is  useful,  diluted  by  more  that  is  not  quite  so  good 
— "or  what  in  this  matter  of  the  election  of  judges  by  the 
people  ?  As  respects  the  last,  for  instance,  had  the  tenure 
of  office  been  made  'good  behavior,'  there  would  have 
been  something  like  a  compromise  ;  but  no — the  conquer- 
ors took  all  ;  and  what  is  worse,  the  conquerors  were 
actually  a  minority  of  the  voters,  so  easy  is  it  to  cow  even 
numbers  by  political  chicanery.  In* this  respect,  de- 
mocracy is  no  more  infallible  than  any  other  form  of  gov- 
ernment." 

"  I  confess,  I  do  not  see  how  this  is  shown,  since  the 
polls  were  free  to  every  citizen." 

"The  result  fairly  proves  it.  Less  than  half  of  the 
known  number  of  the  electors  voted  for  the  change. 
Now  it  is  absurd  to  suppose  that  men  who  really  and 
affirmatively  wished  a  new  constitution  would  stay  away 
from  the  polls." 

u  More  so  than  to  suppose  that  they  who  did  not  wish  it 
would  stay  away,  too  ?  " 

"  More  so,  and  for  this  reason.  Thousands  fancied  it 
useless  to  stem  the  current  of  what  they  fancied  a  popular 
movement,  and  were  passive  in  the  matter.  Any  man,  of 
an  extensive  acquaintance,  may  easily  count  a  hundred 
such  idlers.  Then  a  good  many  stood  on  their  legal 
rights,  and  refused  to  vote,  because  the  manner  of  pro- 
ducing the  change  was  a  palpable  violation  of  a  previous 
contract ;  the  old  constitution  pointing  out  the  manner  in 
which  the  instrument  could  be  altered,  which  was  not  the 
mode  adopted.  Then  tens  of  thousands  voted  for  the  new 
constitution,  who  did  not  know  anything  about  it.  They 
loved  change,  and  voted  for  change's  sake  ;  and,  possibly, 
with  some  vague  notion  that  they  were  to  be  benefited  by 
making  the  institutions  as  popular  as  possible." 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  67 

"And  is  nut  this  the  truth?  Will  not  the  mass  be 
all  the  better  off  by  exercising  as  much  power  as  they 
can  ? " 

"  No  ;  and  for  the  simple  reason  that  masses  cannot,  in 
the  nature  of  things,  exercise  more  than  a  very  limited 
power.  You,  yourself,  for  instance,  one  of  the  mass,  can- 
not exercise  this  very  power  of  choosing  a  judge,  as  it 
ought  to  be  exercised,  and  of  course  are  liable  to  do  more 
harm  than  good." 

"  The  deuce  I  cannot !  Why  is  not  my  vote  as  good  as 
your  own  ?  or  that  of  any  other  man  ? " 

"  For  the  simple  reason  that  you  are  ignorant  of  the 
whole  matter.  Ask  yourself  the  question,  and  answer  it 
like  an  honest  man  ;  would  you — could  you,  with  the 
knowledge  you  possess,  lay  your  finger  on  any  man  in  this 
community,  and  say,  '  I  make  you  a  judge  ? ' ' 

"Yes  ;  my  finger  would  be  laid  on  you,  in  a  minute/' 

"  Ah,  Ned,  that  will  do,  as  a  friend ;  but  how  would  it 
do  as  a  judicious  selection  of  a  judge  you  do  not  know  ? 
You  are  ignorant  of  the  law,  and  must  necessarily  be 
ignorant  of  the  qualifications  of  any  particular  person  to 
be  an  interpreter  of  it.  What  is  true  of  you,  is  equally 
true  of  a  vast  majority  of  those  who  are  now  the  electors 
of  our  judges." 

"  I  am  not  a  little  surprised,  Tom,  to  hear  you  talk  in 
this  way  ;  for  you  profess  to  be  a  democrat !  " 

"To  the  extent  of  giving  the  people  all  power,  in  the 
last  resort — all  power  that  they  can  intelligently  and  use* 
fully  use  ;  but  not  to  the  extent  of  permitting  them  to 
make  the  laws,  and  to  execute  the  laws,  and  to  interpret 
the  laws.  All  that  the  people  want  is  sufficient  power  to 
secure  their  liberties,  which  is  simply  such  a  state  of 
things  as  shall  secure  what  is  right  between  man  and  man. 
Now  it  is  the  want  of  this  all-important  security,  in  a 
practical  point  of  view,  of  which  I  complain.  Rely  on  it, 
Ned,  the  people  gain  nothing  by  exercising  an  authority 
that  they  do  not  know  how  to  turn  to  good  account. 
It  were  far  better  for  them,  and  for  the  State,  to  confine 
themselves  to  the  choice  of  general  agents,  of  whose  char- 
acters they  may  know  something,  and  then  confide  all 
other  powers  to  servants  appointed  by  those  named  by 
these  agents,  holding  all  alike  to  a  rigid  responsibility. 
As  for  the  judges,  they  will  soon  take  decided  party  char- 
acter ;  and  men  will  as  blindly  accuse,  and  as  blindly  de- 
fend them,  as  they  now  do  their  other  leading  partisans 


68  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

What  between  the  bench  and  the  jury-box,  we  shall  shortly 
enjoy  a  legal  pandemonium." 

"  Yet  there  are  those  who  think  the  trial  by  jury  is  the 
palladium  of  our  liberties." 

Dunscomb  laughed  outright,  for  he  recollected  his  con- 
versation with  the  young  men,  which  we  have  already 
related.  Then  suppressing  his  risible  propensity,  he  con- 
tinued gravely— 

"Yes,  one  or  two  papers,  well  feed  by  this  young 
woman's  spare  cash,  might  do  her  more  good  than  any 
service  I  can  render  her.  I  dare  say  the  accounts  now 
published,  or  soon  to  be  published,  will  leave  a  strong 
bias  against  her." 

"  Why  not  fee  a  reporter  as  well  as  a  lawyer,  eh,  Turn  ? 
There  is  no  great  difference,  as  I  can  see." 

"  Yes,  you  can,  and  will,  too,  as  soon  as  you  look  into  tine 
matter.  A  lawyer  is  paid  for  a  known  and  authorized  as- 
sistance, and  the  public  recognize  in  him  one  engaged  in 
the  interests  of  his  client,  and  accepts  his  statements  and 
efforts  accordingly.  But  the  conductor  of  a  public  journal 
sets  up  a  claim  to  strict  impartiality,  in  his  very  profession, 
and  should  tell  nothing  but  what  he  believes  to  be  true, 
neither  inventing  nor  suppressing.  Iii  his  facts  he  is 
merely  the  publisher  of  a  record  ;  in  his  reasoning  a  judge  ; 
not  an  advocate." 

The  doctor  now  laughed,  in  his  turn,  and  well  he  might  ; 
few  men  being  so  ignorant  as  not  to  understand  how  far 
removed  from  all  this  are  "most  of  those  who  control  the 
public  journals. 

"  After  all,  it  is  a  tremendous  power  to  confide  to  irre- 
sponsible men  !  "  he  claimed. 

"  That  it  is,  and  there  is  nothing  among  us  that  so  com- 
pletely demonstrates  how  far,  very  far,  the  public  mind  is 
in  the  rear  of  the  facts  of  the  country,  than  the  blind,  reck- 
less manner  in  which  the  press  is  permitted  to  tyrannize 
over  the  community  in  the  midst  of  all  our  hosannasto  the 
Goddess  of  Liberty.  Because,  forsooth,  what  is  termed  a 
free  press  is  useful,  and  has  been  useful  in  curbing  an  ir- 
responsible, hereditary  power,  in  other  lands,  we  are  just 
stupid  enough  to  think  it  is  of  equal  importance  here, 
where  no  such  power  exists,  and  where  all  that  remains  to 
be  done  is  to  strictly  maintain  the  equal  rights  of  all  classes 
of  citizens.  Did  we  understand  ourselves,  and  our  real 
wants,  not  a  paper  should  be  printed  in  the  State  that  did 
not  make  a  deposit  to  meet  the  legal  penalties  it  might  in' 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE  HOUR.  69 

cur  by  the  abuse  of  its  trust.  This  is  or  was  done  in  France, 
the  country  of  all  others  that  best  respects  equality  of 
rights  in  theory,  if  not  in  practice  !  " 

"  You  surely  would  not  place  restrictions  on  the  press  !  " 

"  I  would  though,  and  very  severe  restrictions,  as  salu- 
tary checks  on  the  immense  power  it  wields.  I  would,  for 
instance,  forbid  the  publication  of  any  statement  what- 
ever, touching  parties  in  the  courts,  whether  in  civil  or 
criminal  cases,  pending  the  actions,  that  the  public  mind 
might  not  be  tainted,  by  design.  Give  the  right  to  publish, 
and  it  will  be,  and  is  abused,  and  that  most  flagrantly,  to 
meet  the  wishes  of  corruption.  I  tell  you,  Ned,  as  soon  as 
you  make  a  trade  of  news,  you  create  a  stock  market  that 
will  have  its  rise  and  fall,  under  the  impulses  of  fear,  false- 
hood, and  favor,  just  like  your  money  transactions.  It  is 
a  perversion  of  the  nature  of  things,  to  make  of  news  more 
than  a  simple  statement  of  what  has  actually  occurred." 

"  It  is  surely  natural  to  lie  !  " 

"That  is  it,  and  this  is  the  very  reason  we  should  not 
throw  extraordinary  protection  around  a  thousand  tongues 
which  speak  by  means  of  types,  that  we  do  not  give  to  the 
natural  member.  The  lie  that  is  told  by  the  press  is  ten 
thousand  times  a  lie,  in  comparison  with  that  which  issues 
from  the  mouth  of  man." 

"  By  George,  Tom,  if  I  had  your  views,  I  would  see  that 
some  of  this  strange  young  woman's  money  should  be  used 
in  sustaining  her,  by  means  of  the  agents  you  mention  ! " 

"  That  would  never  do.  This  is  one  of  the  cases  in  which, 
'want  of  principle'  has  an  ascendancy  over  'principle.' 
The  upright  man  cannot  consent  to  use  improper  instru- 
ments, while  the  dishonest  fellows  seize  on  them  with 
avidity.  So  much  the  greater,  therefore,  is  the  necessity 
for  the  law's  watching  the  interests  of  the  first  with  the  ut- 
most jealousy.  But,  unfortunately,  we  run  away  with  the 
sound,  and  overlook  the  sense  of  things." 

We  have  related  this  conversation  at  a  length  which  a 
certain  class  of  our  readers  will  probably  find  tedious,  but 
it  is  necessary  to  a  right  comprehension  of  various  features 
in  the  picture  we  are  about  to  draw.  At  the  Stag's  Head 
the  friends  stopped  to  let  the  horses  blow,  and,  while  the 
animals  were  cooling  themselves  under  the  care  of  Stephen 
Hoof,  McBrain's  coachman,  the  gentlemen  took  a  short 
walk  in  the  hamlet.  At  several  points,  as  they  moved 
along,  they  overheard  the  subject  of  the  murders  alluded 
to,  and  saw  divers  newspapers,  in  the  hands  of  sundry  in- 


70  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

dividuals,  who  were  eagerly  perusing  accounts  of  the  same 
events  ;  sometimes  by  themselves,  but  oftener  to  groups  of 
attentive  listeners.  The  travellers  were  now  so  near  town 
as  to  be  completely  within  its  moral,  not  to  say  physical, 
atmosphere — being  little  more  than  a  suburb  of  New 
York.  On  their  return  to  the  inn,  the  doctor  stopped  un- 
der the  shed  to  look  at  his  horses,  before  Stephen  checked 
them  up  again,  previously  to  a  fresh  start.  Stephen  was 
neither  an  Irishman  nor  a  black  ;  but  a  regular  old-fash- 
ioned, Manhattanese  coachman  ;  a  class  apart,  and  of  whom, 
in  the  confusion  of  tongues  that  pervades  that  modern 
Babel,  a  few  still  remain,  like  monuments  of  the  past, 
scattered  along  the  Appian  Way. 

"  How  do  your  horses  stand  the  heat,  Stephen  ? "  the 
doctor  kindly  inquired,  always  speaking  of  the  beasts  as  if 
they  were  the  property  of  the  coachman,  and  not  of  him- 
self. "  Pill  looks  as  if  he  had  been  well  warmed  this 
morning." 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  takes  it  somewhat  hotter  than  Poleus,  in 
the  spring  of  the  year,  as  a  gineral  thing.  Pill  vill  vork 
famously,  if  a  body  vill  only  give  him  his  feed  in  vhat  I 
calls  a  genteel  vay  ;  but  them  'ere  country  taverns  has 
nothing  nice  about  'em,  not  even  a  clean  manger  ;  and  a 
town  horse  that  is  accustomed  to  a  sweet  stable  and  proper 
company,  won't  stand  up  to  the  rack  as  he  should  do,  in 
one  of  their  holes.  Now,  Poleus,  I  calls  a  gineral  feeder  ; 
it  makes  no  matter  vith  him  vhether  he  is  at  home,  or  out 
on  a  farm — he  finishes  his  oats  ;  but  it  isn't  so  vith  Pill,  sir 
—his  stomach  is  delicate,  and  the  horse  that  don't  get  his 
proper  food  vill  sweat,  summer  or  vinter." 

"  I  sometimes  think,  Stephen,  it  might  be  better  to  take 
them  both  off  their  oats  for  a  few  days,  and  let  blood,  per- 
haps ;  they  say  that  the  fleam  is  as  good  for  a  horse  as  the 
lancet  is  for  a  man." 

"  Don't  think  on't,  sir,  I  beg  of  you  !  I'm  sure  they  has 
doctor-stuff  in  their  names,  not  to  crowd  'em  down  vith 
any  more,  jist  as  varm  veather  is  a  settin'  in.  Oats  is 
physic  enough  for  a  horse,  and  vhen  the  creaturs  vants 
anything  more,  sir,  jist  leave  'em  to  me.  I  knows  as  pecul- 
iar a  drench  as  ever  vas  poured  down  a  vheeler's  throat, 
vithout  troublin'  that  academy  in  Barclay  Street,  vhere  so 
many  gentlemen  goes  two  or  three  times  a  veek,  and  vhere, 
they  do  say,  so  many  goes  in  as  never  comes  out  whole." 

"Well,  Stephen,  I'll  not  interfere  with  your  treatment, 
for  I  confess  to  very  little  knowledge  of  the  diseases  of 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  ji 

horses.  What  have  you  got  in  the  paper  there,  that  I  see 
you  have  been  reading?" 

"  Vhy,  sir," answered  Stephen,  scratching  his  head,  "  it's 
all  about  our  affair,  up  yonder." 

"  Our  affair  !  Oh  !  you  mean  the  inquest,  and  the  mur- 
der. Well,  what  does  the  paper  say  about  it,  Hoof  ?" 

"  It  says  it's  a  most  '  thrilling  a'count,'  sir,  and  an  ' awful 
tragedy,'  and  it  venders  vhat  young  vomen  is  a-coming  to 
next.  I  am  pretty  much  of  the  same  vay  of  thinking,  sir, 
myself." 

"You  are  in  the  habit  of  thinking  very  much  as  the 
newspapers  do,  are  you  not,  Stephen  ? "  asked  Dunscomb. 

"  Veil,  Squire  Dunscomb,  you've  hit.  it  !  There  is  an 
onaccountable  resemblance,  like,  in  our  thoughts.  I  hardly 
ever  set  down  to  read  a  paper,  that,  afore  I've  got  half-way 
through  it,  I  find  it  thinking  just  as  I  do  !  It  puzzles  me 
to  know  how  them  that  writes  for  these  papers  finds  out  a 
body's  thoughts  so  veil  !  " 

"  They  have  a  way  of  doing  it  ;  but  it  is  too  long  a  story 
to  go  over  now.  So  this  paper  has  something  to  say  about 
our  young  woman,  has  it,  Stephen  ?  and  it  mentions  the 
Biberry  business  ?" 

"  A  good  deal,  Squire  ;  and  vhat  I  calls  good  sense  too. 
Vhy,  gentlemen,  vhat  shall  we  all  come  to,  if  young  gals 
of  fifteen  can  knock  us  in  the  head,  matched,  like,  or  in 
pairs,  killinga  whole  team  at  one  blow,  and  then  set  fire  to 
the  stables,  and  burn  us  up  to  our  anatomies  ?" 

"  Fifteen  !  Does  your  account  say  that  Miss  Monson  is 
only  fifteen,  Hoof?" 

"  '  She  appears  to  be  of  the  tender  age  of  fifteen,  and  is 
of  extrornary  personal  attractions.'  Them's  the  werry 
vords,  sir  ;  but  perhaps  you'd  like  to  read  it  yourselves, 
gentlemen  ? " 

As  Stephen  made  this  remark,  he  very  civilly  offered  the 
journal  to  Dunscomb,  who  took  it  ;  but  was  not  disposed 
to  drop  the  conversation  just  then  to  read  it,  though  his  eye 
did  glance  at  the  article,  as  he  continued  the  subject.  This 
was  a  habit  with  him  ;  his  clerks  often  saying  he  could 
carry  the  chains  of  arguments  of  two  subjects  in  his  mind 
at  the  same  moment.  His  present  object  was  to  ascertain 
from  this  man  what  might  be  the  popular  feeling  in  regard 
to  his  client,  at  the  place  they  had  just  left,  and  the  scene 
of  the  events  themselves. 

"  What  is  thought  and  said,  at  Biberry,  among  those  with 
whom  you  talked,  Stephen,  concerning  this  matter  ? " 


72  THE  WAYS   OF  THE 

"That  it's  a  most  awful  ewent,  Squire!  One  of  the 
werry  vorst  that  has  happened  in  these  werry  vicked  times, 
sir.  I  heard  one  gentleman  go  over  all  the  murders  that 
has  taken  place  about  York  during  these  last  ten  years,  and 
a  perdigious  sight  on  'em  there  vas  ;  so  many,  that  I  began 
to  vender  I  vasn't  one  of  the  wictims  myself ;  but  he 
counted  'em  off  on  his  fingers,  and  made  this  out  to  be  one 
of  the  werry  vorst  of  'em  all,  sir.  He  did,  indeed,  sir." 

"  Was  he  a  reporter,  Stephen  ?  one  of  the  persons  who 
are  sent  out  by  the  papers  to  collect  news  ? " 

"  I  believe  he  vas,  sir.  Quite  a  gentleman  ;  and  vith 
something  to  say  to  all  he  met.  He  often  came  out  to  the 
stables,  and  had  a  long  conwersation  vith  as  poor  a  feller 
as  I  be." 

"  Pray,  what  could  he  have  to  say  to  you,  Stephen  ? "  de- 
manded the  doctor,  a  little  gravely. 

"  Oh  !  lots  of  things,  sir.  He  began  by  praising  the 
horses,  and  asking  their  names.  I  gave  him  my  names,  sir, 
TiQtyourn;  for  I  thought  he  might  get  it  into  print,  some- 
how, that  Dr.  McBrain  calls  his  coach-horses  after  his  physic, 
Pill  and  Poleus  " — "  Bolus  "  was  the  real  appellation  that 
the  owner  had  been  pleased  to  give  this  beast ;  but  as 
Stephen  fancied  the  word  had  some  connection  with  "  pole- 
horse,"  he  chose  to  pronounce  it  as  written.  "  Yes,  I  didn't 
vishyvur  names  to  get  into  the  papers,  sir  ;  and  so  I  told 
him  *  Pill '  vas  called  '  Marygoold,'  and  '  Poleus,'  '  Dande- 
lion.' He  promised  an  article  about  'em,  sir ;  and  I  gave 
him  the  ages,  blood,  sires,  and  dams,  of  both  the  beauties. 
He  told  me  he  thought  the  names  delightful  ;  and  I'm 
in  hopes,  sir,  you'll  give  up  yourn,  arter  all,  and  take  to 
mine  altogether." 

"  We  shall  see.     And  he  promised  an  article,  did  he  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  quite  woluritary.  I  know'd  that  the  horses 
couldn't  be  outdone,  and  told  him  as  much  as  that ;  for  I 
thought,  as  the  subject  vas  up,  it  might  be  as  veil  to  do 
'em  all  the  credit  I  could.  Perhaps,  vhen  they  gets  too  old 
for  vork,  you  might  vish  to  part  vith  'em,  sir,  and  then  a 
good  newspaper  character  could  do  'em  no  great  harm." 

Stephen  was  a  particularly  honest  fellow,  as  to  things  in 
general  ;  but  he  had  the  infirmity  which  seems  to  be  so 
general  among  men,  that  of  a  propensity  to  cheat  in  a 
transfer  of  horse-flesh.  Dunscomb  was  amused  at  this  ex- 
hibition of  character,  of  which  he  had  seen  so  much  in  his 
day,  and  felt  disposed  to  follow  it  up. 

"  I  believe  you  had  some  difficulty^  in  choosing  one  of 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  73 

the  horses,  Stephen" — McBrain  commissioned  his  coachman 
to  do  all  the  bargaining  of  this  sort,  and  had  never  lost  a 
cent  by  his  confidence — "Pill,  I  think  it  was,  that  didn't 
bring  as  good  a  character  as  he  might  have  done  ?" 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  Squire,  'twasn't  he,  but  Marygoold. 
Vhy,  the  thing  vas  this  :  a  gentleman  of  the  church  had 
bought  Marygoold  to  go  in  a  buggy  ;  but  soon  vanted  to 
part  vith  him,  'cause  of  his  shyin'  in  single  harness,  vhich 
frightened  his  vife,  as  he  said.  Now  all  the  difficulty  vas 
in  this  one  thing — not  that  I  cared  at  all  about  the  creatur's 
shyin',  vhich  vas  no  great  matter  in  double  harness,  you 
know,  sir,  and  a  body  could  soon  coax  him  out  of  the  notion 
on  it,  by  judgematical  drivin'  ;  but  the  difficulty  vas  here 
— if  the  owner  of  a  horse  owned  so  much  ag'in  his  charac- 
ter, there  must  be  a  great  deal  behind,  that  a  feller  must 
find  out  as  veil  as  he  could.  I've  know'd  a  foundered  ani- 
mal put  off  under  a  character  for  shyin'." 

"  And  the  owner  a  clergyman,  Stephen  ?  " 

"Perhaps  not,  sir.  But  it  makes  no  great  matter  in 
tradin'  horses  ;  church  and  the  vorld  is  much  of  a  much- 
ness." 

"  Did  that  reporting  gentleman  ask  any  questions  con- 
cerning the  owner,  as  well  as  concerning  the  horses  ?" 

"  Vhy,  yes,  sir ;  vhen  he  vas  done  vith  the  animals,  he 
did  make  a  few  observations  about  the  doctor.  He  vanted 
to  know  if  he  vas  married  yet,  and  vhen  it  vas  to  happen  ; 
and  how  much  I  thought  he  might  be  vorth,  and  how  much 
Mrs.  Updyke  vas  counted  for  ;  and  if  there  vas  children  ; 
and  vhich  house  the  family  vas  to  live  in  ;  'and  vhere  he 
should  keep  the  slate  arter  the  veddin'  had  come  off  ;  and 
how  much  the  doctor's  practice  vas  vorth  ;  and  vhether  he 
vas  vhig  or  locy  ;  and,  most  of  all,  he  vanted  to  know  vhy 
he  and  you,  sir,  should  go  to  Biberry  about  this  murder." 

"What  did  you  tell  him,  Stephen,  in  reference  to  the 
last  ? " 

"  Vhat  could  I,  sir  ?  I  don't  know,  myself.  I've  druv' 
the  doctor  often  and  often  to  see  them  that  has  died  soon 
arter  our  wisit  ;  but  I  never  druv'  him,  afore,  to  wisit  the 
dead.  That  gentleman  seemed  to  think  he  vas  much  mis- 
taken about  the  skeletons  ;  but  it's  all  in  the  paper,  sir." 

On  hearing  this,  Dunscomb  quickly  turned  to  the  col- 
umns of  the  journal  again,  and  was  soon  reading  their 
contents  aloud  to  his  friends  ;  in  the  meantime  Stephen 
set  Marygoold  and  Dandelion  in  motion  once  more. 

The  account  was  much  as  Dunscomb  expected  to  find  it; 


74  THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

so  written  as  to  do  no  possible  good,  while  it  might  do  a 
great  deal  of  harm.  The  intention  was  to  feed  a  morbid 
feeling  in  the  vulgar  for  exaggerated  accounts  of  the 
shocking — the  motive  being  gain.  Anything  that  would 
sell,  was  grist  for  this  mill  ;  and  the  more  marvellous  and 
terrible  the  history  of  the  event  could  be  made,  the  greater 
was  the  success  likely  to  be.  The  allusions  to  Mary  Monson 
were  managed  with  a  good  deal  of  address  ;  for,  while 
there  was  a  seeming  respect  for  her  rights,  the  reader  was 
left  to  infer  that  her  guilt  was  not  only  beyond  a  question, 
but  of  the  darkest  dye.  It  was  while  reading  and  com- 
menting on  these  articles,  that  the  carriage  entered  Broad- 
way, and  soon  set  Dunscomb  down  at  his  own  door.  There 
the  doctor  left  it ;  choosing  to  walk  as  far  as  Mrs.  Up- 
dyke's  rather  than  give  Stephen  more  materials  for  the  re- 
porter. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Then  none  was  for  a  party ; 

Then  all  were  for  the  state  ; 
Then  the  great  man  help'd  the  poor, 

And  the  poor  man  lov'd  the  great : 
Then  lands  were  fairly  portion' d  ; 

Then  spoils  were  fairly  sold  ; 
The  Romans  were  like  brothers 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. — MACAULAY. 

IT  has  been  said  that  John  Wilmeter  was  left  by  his  uncle 
at  Biberry,  to  look  after  the  welfare  of  their  strange  client. 
John,  or  Jack,  as  he  was  commonly  called  by  his  familiars, 
including  his  pretty  sister,  was  in  the  main  a  very  good 
fellow,  though  far  from  being  free  from  the  infirmities  to 
which  the  male  portion  of  the  human  family  are  subject, 
when  under  the  age  of  thirty.  He  was  frank,  manly, 
generous,  disposed  to  think  for  himself,  and,  what  is  some- 
what unusual  with  his  countrymen,  of  a  temperament  that 
led  him  to  make  up  his  mind  suddenly,  and  was  not  to  be 
easily  swayed  by  the  notions  that  might  be  momentarily 
floating  about  in  the  neighborhood.  Perhaps  a  little  of 
a  spirit  of  opposition  to  the  feeling  that  was  so  rapidly 
gaining  head  in  Biberry  inclined  him  to  take  a  warmer 
interest  in  the  singular  female  who  stood  charged  with 
such  enormous  crimes,  than  he  might  otherwise  have  done. 

The  instructions  left  by  Mr,  Dunscomb  with  his  nephew 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  75 

,-ilso  gave  the  latter  some  uneasiness.  In  the  first  place, 
they  had  been  very  ample  and  thoughtful  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  prisoner's  comforts,  which,  had  been  seen  to 
in  a  way  that  is  by  no  means  common  in  a  jail.  Money 
had  been  used  pretty  freely  in  effecting  this  object,  it  is 
true  ;  but,  out  of  the  large  towns,  money  passes  for  much 
less  on  such  occasions,  in  America,  than  in  most  other 
countries.  The  people  are  generally  kind-hearted,  and 
considerate  for  the  wants  of  others  ;  and  fair  words  will 
usually  do  quite  as  much  as  dollars.  Dunscornb,  however, 
had  made  a  very  judicious  application  of  both,  and  beyond 
the  confinement  and  the  fearful  nature  of  the  charges 
brought  against  her,  Mary  Monson  had  very  little  to  com- 
plain of  in  her  situation. 

The  part  of  his  instructions  which  gave  John  Wilmeter 
most  uneasiness,  which  really  vexed  him,  related  to  the 
prisoner's  innocence  or  guilt.  The  uncle  distrusted  ;  the 
nephew  was  all  confidence.  While  the  first  had  looked  at 
the  circumstances  coolly,  and  was,  if  anything,  leaning  to 
the  opinion  that  there  might  be  truth  in  the  charges,  the 
last  beheld  in  Mary  Monson  an  attractive  young  person  of 
the  other  sex,  whose  innocent  countenance  was  the  pledge 
of  an  innocent  soul.  To  John,  it  was  preposterous  to 
entertain  a  charge  of  this  nature  against  one  so  singularly 
gifted. 

"  I  should  as  soon  think  of  accusing  Sarah  of  such  dark 
offences,  as  of  accusing  this  young  lady,"  exclaimed  John 
to  his  friend  Michael  Millington,  while  the  two  were  taking 
their  breakfast  next  day.  "  It  is  preposterous — wicked — 
monstrous,  to  suppose  that  a  young,  educated  female 
would,  or  could,  commit  such  crimes.  Why,  Mike,  she 
understands  French  and  Italian,  and  Spanish  ;  and  I  think 
it  quite  likely  that  she  can  also  read  German,  if  indeed  she 
cannot  speak  it." 

"  How  do  you  know  this  ?  Has  she  been  making  a  dis- 
play of  her  knowledge  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least — it  all  came  out  as  naturally  as  possi- 
ble. She  asked  for  some  of  her  own  books  to  read,  and 
when  they  were  brought  to  her,  I  found  that  she  had 
selected  works  in  all  four  of  these  languages.  T  was  quite 
ashamed  of  my  own  ignorance,  I  can  assure  you  ;  which 
amounts  to  no  more  than  a  smattering  of  French,  in  the 
face  of  her  Spanish,  Italian  and  German." 

"  Poh  !  I  shouldn't  have  minded  it  in  the  least," 
Michael  very  coolly  replied,  his  mouth  being  half-full  of 


76  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

beefsteak.  "  The  girls  lead  us  in  such  things,  of  course. 
No  man  dreams  of  keeping  up  with  a  young  lady  who 
has  got  into  the  living  languages.  Miss  Wilmeter  might 
teach  us  both,  and  laugh  at  our  ignorance,  in  the  bargain." 

"  Sarah  !  Ay,  she  is  a  good  enough  girl,  in  her  way — 
but  no  more  to  be  compared— 

Jack  Wilmeter  stopped  short,  for  Millington  dropped 
his  knife  with  not  a  little  clatter,  on  his  plate,  and  was 
gazing  at  his  friend  in  a  sort  of  fierce  astonishment. 

"You  don't  dream  of  comparing  your  sister  to  this  un- 
known and  suspected  stranger,"  at  length  Michael  got  out, 
speaking  very  much  like  one  whose  head  has  been  held 
under  water  until  his  breath  was  nearly  exhausted.  "  You 
ought  to  recollect,  John,  that  virtue  should  never  be 
brought  unnecessarily  in  contact  with  vice." 

"Mike,  and  do  you,  too,  believe  in  the  guilt  of  Mary 
Monson  ? " 

"  I  believe  that  she  is  committed  under  a  verdict  given 
by  an  inquest,  and  think  it  best  to  suspend  my  opinion  as 
to  the  main  fact,  in  waiting  for  further  evidence.  Remem- 
ber, Jack,  how  often  your  uncle  has  told  us  that,  after  all, 
good  witnesses  were  the  gist  of  the  law.  Let  us  wait  and 
see  what  a  trial  may  bring  forth." 

Young  Wilmeter  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  bowed 
his  head  to  the  table,  and  ate  not  another  morsel  that 
morning.  His  good  sense  admonished  him  of  the  pru- 
dence of  the  advice  just  given  ;  while  feelings,  impetuous, 
and  excited  almost  to  fierceness,  impelled  him  to  go  forth 
and  war  on  all  who  denied  the  innocence  of  the  accused. 
To  own  the  truth,  John  Wilmeter  was  fast  becoming  en- 
tangled in  the  meshes  of  love. 

And,  sooth  to  say,  notwithstanding  the  extreme  awk- 
wardness of  her  situation,  the  angry  feeling  that  was  so 
fast  rising  up  against  her  in  Biberry  and  its  vicinity,  and 
the  general  mystery  that  concealed  her  real  name,  char- 
acter and  history,  there  was  that  about  Mary  Monson,  in 
her  countenance,  other  personal  advantages,  and  most  of 
all  in  her  manner  and  voice,  that  might  well  catch  the 
fancy  of  a  youth  of  warm  feelings,  and  through  his  fancy, 
sooner  or  later,  touch  his  heart.  As  yet,  John  was  only 
under  the  influence  of  the  new-born  sentiment,  and  had  he 
now  been  removed  from  Biberry,  it  is  probable  that  the 
feelings  and  interest  which  had  been  so  suddenly  and 
powerfully  awakened  in  him  would  have  passed  away  alto- 
gether, or  remained  in  shadow  on  his  memory,  as  a  melan 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  77 

choly  and  yet  pleasant  record  of  hours  past,  under  circum- 
stances in  which  men  live  fast,  if  they  do  not  always  live 
well.  Little  did  the  uncle  think  of  the  great  danger  to 
which  he  exposed  his  nephew,  when  he  placed  him,  like  a 
sentinel  in  law,  on  duty  near  the  portal  of  his  immured 
client.  But  the  experienced  Dunscomb  was  anxious  to 
bring  John  into  active  life,  and  to  place  him  in  situations 
that  might  lead  him  to  think  and  execute  for  himself  ;  and 
it  had  been  much  his  practice,  of  late,  to  put  the  young 
man  forward,  whenever  circumstances  would  admit  of  it. 
Although  the  counsellor  was  more  than  at  his  ease  in 
fortune,  and  John  and  Sarah  each  possessed  very  respect- 
able means,  that  placed  them  altogether  above  depend- 
ence, he  was  exceedingly  anxious  that  his  nephew  should 
succeed  to  his  own  business,  as  the  surest  mode  of  secur- 
ing his  happiness  and  respectability  in  a  community  where 
the  number  of  the  idle  is  relatively  so  small  as  to  render 
the  pursuits  of  a  class,  that  is  by  no  means  without  its 
uses  where  it  can  be  made  to  serve  the  tastes  and  man- 
ners of  a  country,  difficult  of  attainment,  He  had  the 
same  desire  in  behalf  of  his  niece,  or  that  she  should  be- 
come the  wife  of  a  man  who  had  something  to  do  ;  and  the 
circumstance  that  Millington,  though  of  highly  reputable 
connections,  was  almost  entirely  without  fortune,  was  no 
objection  in  his  eyes  to  the  union  that  Sarah  was  so  ob- 
viously inclined  to  form.  The  two  young  men  had  been 
left  on  the  ground,  therefore,  to  take  care  of  the  interests 
of  a  client  who  Dunscomb  was  compelled  to  admit  was  one 
that  interested  him  more  than  any  other  in  whose  services 
he  had  ever  been  employed,  strongly  as  he  was  disposed 
to  fear  that  appearances  might  be  deceitful. 

Our  young  men  were  not  idle.  In  addition  to  doing 
all  that  was  in  their  power  to  contribute  to  the  personal 
comforts  of  Miss  Monson,  they  were  active  and  intelli- 
gent in  obtaining  and  making  notes  of  all  the  facts 
that  had  been  drawn  out  by  the  coroner's  inquest,  or 
which  could  be  gleaned  in  the  neighborhood.  These  facts, 
or  rumors,  John  classed  into  the  "proved,"  the  "reported," 
the  "probable,"  and  the  "improbable;"  accompanying 
each  division  with  such  annotations  as  made  a  very  useful 
sort  of  brief  for  any  one  who  wished  to  push  the  inquiries 
further. 

"There,  Millington,"  he  said  when  they  reached  the 
jail,  on  their  return  from  a  walk  as  far  as  the  ruins  of  the 
house  which  had  been  burned,  and  after  they  had  dined ; 


78  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

11  there,  I  think  we  have  done  tolerably  well  for  one 
day,  and  are  in  a  fair  way  to  give  Uncle  Tom  a  pretty 
full  account  of  this  miserable  business.  Tire  more  I  see 
and  learn  of  it,  the  more  I  am  convinced  of  the  perfect  in- 
nocence of  the  accused.  I  trust  it  strikes  you  in  the  same 
way,  Mike  ?" 

But  Mike  was  by  no  means  as  sanguine  as  his  friend. 
He  smiled  faintly  at  this  question,  and  endeavored  to 
evade  a  direct  answer.  He  saw  how  lively  were  the 
hopes  of  Tom,  and  how  deeply  his  feelings  were  getting 
to  be  interested  in  the  matter  ;  while  his  own  judgment, 
influenced,  perhaps,  by  Mr.  Dunscomb's  example,  greatly 
inclined  him  to  the  worst  foreboding  of  the  result.  Still 
he  had  an  honest  satisfaction  in  saying  anything  that 
might  contribute  to  the  gratification  of  Sarah's  brother, 
and  a  good  opportunity  now  offering,  he  did  not  let  it  es- 
cape him. 

"There  is  one  thing,  Jack,  that  seems  to  have  been 
strangely  overlooked,"  he  said,  "and  out  of  which  some 
advantage  may  come,  if  it  be  thoroughly  sifted.  You  may 
remember  it  was  stated  by  some  of  the  witnesses,  that 
there  was  a  German  woman  in  the  family  of  the  Good- 
wins, the  day  that  preceded  the  fire — one  employed  in 
housework  ? " 

"Now  you  mention  it,  I  do!  Sure  enough;  what  has 
become  of  that  woman  ?  " 

"  While  you  were  drawing  your  diagram  of  the  ruins, 
and  projecting  your  plan  of  the  out-buildings,  garden, 
fields,  and  so  cm,  I  stepped  across  to  the  nearest  house,  and 
had  a  chat  with  the  ladies.  You  may  remember  I  told  you 
it  was  to  get  a  drink  of  milk  ;  but  I  saw  petticoats,  and 
thought  something  might  be  learned  from  woman's  pro- 
pensity to  talk." 

"  I  know  you  left  me,  but  I  was  too  busy,  just  then,  to 
see  on  what  errand,  or  whither  you  went." 

"  It  was  to  the  old  stone  farm-house  that  stands  only  fifty 
rods  from  the  ruins.  The  family  in  possession  is  named 
Burton,  and  a  more  talkative  set  I  never  encountered  in 
petticoats." 

"How  many  had  you  to  deal  with,  Mike?"  John  in- 
quired, running  his  eyes  over  his  notes,  as  he  asked  the 
question,  in  a  way  that  showed  how  little  he  anticipated 
from  this  interview  with  the  Burtons.  "  If  more  than  one 
of  the  garrulous  set,  I  pity  you,  for  I  had  a  specimen  of 
them  yesterday  morning  myself,  in  a  passing  interview." 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUA'.  79 

"  There  were  three  talkers,  and  one  silent  body.  As  is 
usual,  I  thought  that  the  silent  member  of  the  house  knew 
more  than  the  speakers,  if  she  had  been  inclined  to  let 
out  her  knowledge." 

"  Ay,  that  is  a  way  we  have  of  judging  of  one  another  ; 
but  it  is  as  often  false  as  true.  As  many  persons  are  silent 
because  they  have  nothing  to  say,  as  because  they  are  re- 
flecting ;  and  of  those  who  look  very  wise,  about  one  half, 
as  near  as  I  can  judge,  look  so  as  a  sort  of  apology  for  be- 
ing very  silly." 

"  I  can't  say  how  it  was  with  Mrs.  Burton,  the  silent 
member  of  the  family,  in  this  case  ;  bv.!:  I  do  know  that  her 
three  worthy  sisters-in-law  are  to  be  classed  among  the 
foolish  virgins." 

"  Had  they  no  oil  to  trim  their  lamps  withal  ? " 

"  It  had  all  been  used  to  render  their  tongues  limber. 
Never  did  three  damsels  pour  out  words  in  so  full  a  rivu- 
let, as  I  was  honored  with  for  the  first  five  minutes.  By 
the  end  of  that  time,  I  was  enabled  to  put  a  question  or 
two  ;  after  which  they  were  better  satisfied  to  let  me  in- 
terrogate, while  they  were  content  to  answer." 

"  Did  you  learn  anything,  Mike,  to  reward  you  for  all 
this  trouble  ? "  again  glancing  at  his  notes. 

"  I  think  I  did.  With  a  good  deal  of  difficulty  in  elimi- 
nating the  surplusage,  if  I  may  coin  a  word  for  the  occa- 
sion, I  got  these  facts  :  It  would  seem  that  the  German 
woman  was  a  newly-arrived  immigrant,  who  had  strolled 
into  the  country,  and  offered  to  work  for  her  food,  etc. 
Mrs.  Goodwin  usually  attended  to  all  her  own  domestic 
matters  ;  but  she  had  an  attack  of  rheumatism  that  pre- 
disposed her  to  receive  this  offer,  and  that  so  much  the 
more  willingly,  because  the  '  help '  was  not  to  be  paid.  It 
appears  that  the  deceased  female  was  an  odd  mixture  of 
miserly  propensities  with  a  love  of  display.  She  hoarded 
all  she  could  lay  her  hands  on,  and  took  a  somewhat  un- 
common pleasure  in  showing  her  hoards  to  her  neighbors. 
In  consequence  of  this  last  weakness,  the  whole  neighbor- 
hood knew  not  only  of  her  gold,  for  she  turned  every  coin 
into  that  metal  before  it  was  consigned  to  her  stocking, 
but  of  the  amount  to  a  dollar,  and  the  place  where  she 
kept  it.  In  this  all  agreed,  even  to  the  silent  matron." 

"And  what  has  become  of  this  German  woman  ?"  asked 
John,  closing  his  notes  with  sudden  interest.  "  Why  was 
she  not  examined  before  the.  inquest  ?  and  where  is  she 
now?" 


8o  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

"No  one  knows.  She  has  been  missing  ever  since  the 
fire,  and  a  few  fancy  that  she  may,  after  all,  be  the  person 
who  has  done  the  whole  mischief.  It  does  wear  a  strange 
look,  that  no  trace  can  be  heard  of  her  ! " 

"  This  must  be  looked  into  closely,  Mike.  It  is  unac- 
countably strange  that  more  was  not  said  of  her  before 
the  coroner.  Yet,  I  fear  one  thing,  too.  Doctor  McBrain 
is  a  man  of  the  highest  attainments  as  an  anatomist,  and 
you  will  remember  that  he  inclines  to  the  opinion  that 
both  the  skeletons  belonged  to  females.  Now,  it  may  turn 
out  that  this  German  woman's  remains  have  been  found  ; 
which  will  put  her  guilt  out  of  the  question." 

"  Surely,  Jack,  you  would  not  be  sorry  to  have  it  turn 
out  that  any  human  being  should  be  innocent  of  such 
crimes  ! " 

"  By  no  means  ;  though  it  really  does  seem  to  me  more 
probable  that  an  unknown  straggler  should  be  the  guilty 
one  in  this  case,  than  an  educated  young  female,  who  has 
every  claim  in  the  way  of  attainments  to  be  termed  a  lady. 
Besides,  Michael,  these  German  immigrants  have  brought 
more  than  their  share  of  crime  among  us.  Look  at  the 
reports  of  murders  and  robberies  for  the  last  ten  years, 
and  you  will  find  that  an  undue  proportion  of  them  have 
been  committed  by  this  class  of  immigrants.  To  me,  noth- 
ing appears  more  probable  than  this  affair's  being  traced 
up  to  that  very  woman." 

"  I  own  you  are  right,  in  saying  what  you  do  of  the 
Germans.  But  it  should  be  remembered,  that  some  of 
their  states  are  said  to  have  adopted  the  policy  of  sending 
their  rogues  to  America.  If  England  were  to  attempt  that 
now,  I  fancy  Jonathan  would  hardly  stand  it  ! " 

"  He  ought  not  to  stand  it  for  an  hour,  from  any  nation 
on  earth.  If  there  ever  was  a  good  cause  for  war,  this  is 
one.  Yes,  yes  ;  that  German  immigrant  must  be  looked 
up,  and  examined." 

Michael  Millington  smiled  faintly  at  John  Wilmeter's 
disposition  to  believe  the  worst  of  the  High  Dutch  ;  touch- 
ing the  frailties  of  whom,  however,  neither  of  the  two  had 
exaggerated  anything.  Far  more  than  their  share  of  the 
grave  crimes  of  this  country  have,  within  the  period  named, 
been  certainly  committed  by  immigrants  from  Germany  ; 
whether  the  cause  be  in  the  reason  given,  or  in  national 
character.  This  is  not  according  to  ancient  opinion,  but 
we  believe  it  to  be  strictly  according  to  fact.  The  Irish 
are  clannish,  turbulent,  and  much  disposed  to  knock  each 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  Si 

other  on  the  head  ;.  but  it  is  not  to  rob,  or  to  pilfer,  but  to 
quarrel.  The  Englishman  will  pick  your  pocket,  or  com- 
mit burglary,  when  inclined  to  roguery,  and  frequently  he 
has  a  way  of  his  own  of  extorting,  in  the  way  of  vails. 
The  Frenchmen  may  well  boast  of  their  freedom  from 
wrongs  done  to  persons  or  property  in  this  country  ;  no 
class  of  immigrants  furnishing  to  the  prisons,  compara- 
tively, fewer  criminals.  The  natives,  out  of  all  proportion, 
are  freest  from  crime,  if  the  blacks  be  excepted,  and  when 
we  compare  the  number  of  the  convicted  with  the  number 
of  the  people.  Still,  such  results  ought  not  to  be  taken  as 
furnishing  absolute  rules  by  which  to  judge  of  large  bodies 
of  men  ;  since  unsettled  lives  on  the  one  hand,  and  the 
charities  of  life  on  the  other,  may  cause  disproportions 
that  would  not  otherwise  exist. 

"  If  one  of  these  skeletons  be  that  of  the  German  woman, 
and  Doctor  McBrain  should  prove  to  be  right,"  said  John 
Wilmeter,  earnestly,  "  what  has  become  of  the  remains  of 
Mr.  Goodwin  ?  There  was  a  husband  as  well  as  a  wife,  in 
that  family." 

"Very  true,"  answered  Millington  ;  "and  I  learned 
something  concerning  him,  too.  It  seems  that  the  old  fel- 
low drank  intensely,  at  times,  when  he  and  his  wife  made 
the  house  too  hot  to  hold  them.  All  the  Burtons  agreed 
in  giving  this  account  of  the  good  couple.  The  failing 
was  not  generally  known,  and  had  not  yet  gone  so  far  as 
to  affect  the  old  man's  general  character,  though  it  would 
seem  to  have  been  known  to  the  immediate  neighbors." 

"And  not  one  word  of  all  this  is  to  be  found  in  any  of 
the  reports  in  the  papers  from  town  !  Not  a  particle  of 
testimony  on  the  point  before  the  inquest !  Why,  Mike, 
this  single  fact  may  furnish  a  clew  to  the  whole  catastro- 
phe." 

"  In  what  way  ?  "  Millington  very  quietly  inquired. 

"Those  bones  are  the  bones  of  females  ;  old  Goodwin 
has  robbed  the  house,  set  fire  to  it,  murdered  his  wife  and 
the  German  woman  in  a  drunken  frolic,  and  run  away. 
Here  is  a  history  for  Uncle  Tom  that  will  delight  him  ; 
for  if  he  do  not  feel  quite  certain  of  Mary  Monson's  inno- 
cence now,  he  would  be  delighted  to  learn  its  truth  !  ' 

"  You  make  much  out  of  a  very  little,  Jack  ;  and  imagine 
far  more  than  you  can  prove.  Why  should  old  Goodwin 
set  fire  to  his  own  house — for  I  understand  the  property 
was  his — steal  his  own  money  ": — for,  though  married 
women  did  then  hold  a  separate  estate  in  a  bed-quilt,  or  a 


82  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

gridiron,  the  law  could  not  touch  the  previous  accumula- 
tions of  3.femme  coverte — "  and  murder  a  poor  foreigner,  who 
could  neither  give  nor  take  away  anything  that  the  build- 
ing contained?  Then  he  is  to  burn  his  own  house,  and 
make  himself  a  vagrant  in  his  old  age — and  that  among 
strangers  !  I  learn  he  was  born  in  that  very  house,  and 
has  passed  his  days  in  it.  Such  a  man  would  not  be  very 
likely  to  destroy  it." 

"Why  not,  to  conceal  a  murder  ?  Crime  must  be  con- 
cealed, or  it  is  punished." 

"  Sometimes,"  returned  Michael,  dryly.  "  This  Mary 
Monson  will  be  hanged,  out  of  all  question,  should  the  case 
go  against  her,  for  she  understands  French,  and  Italian, 
and  German,  you  say ;  either  of  which  tongues  would  be 
sufficient  to  hang  her  ;  but  had  old  Mrs.  Goodwin  mur- 
dered her,  philanthropy  would  have  been  up  and  stirring, 
and  no  rope  would  be  stretched." 

"  Millington,  you  have  a  way  of  talking  at  times  that  is 
quite  shocking  !  I  do  wish  you  could  correct  it.  What 
use  is  there  in  bringing  a  young  lady  like  Miss  Monson 
down  to  the  level  of  a  common  criminal  ? " 

"  She  will  be  brought  down  as  low  as  that,  depend  on  it, 
if  guilty.  There  is  no  hope  for  one  who  bears  about  her 
person,  in  air,  manner,  speech,  and  deportment,  the  un- 
equivocal signs  of  a  lady.  Our  sympathies  are  all  kept  for 
those  who  are  less  set  apart  from  the  common  herd.  Sym- 
pathy goes  by  majorities,  as  well  as  other  matters." 

"You  think  her,  at  all  events,  a  lady?"  said  John, 
quickly.  "How,  then,  can  you  suppose  it  possible  that 
she  has  been  guilty  of  the  crimes  of  which  she  stands 
accused  ? " 

"  Simply,  because  my  old-fashioned  father  has  given  me 
old-fashioned  notions  of  the  meaning  of  terms.  So  thin- 
skinned  have  people  become  lately,  that  even  language 
must  be  perverted  to  gratify  their  conceit.  The  terms 
'gentleman  '  and  Mady'  have  as  defined  meanings  as  any 
two  words  we  possess— signifying  persons  of  cultivated 
minds  and  of  certain  refinements  in  tastes  and  manners. 
Morals  have  nothing  to  do  with  either,  necessarily,  as  a 
'  gentleman  '  or  '  lady'  may  be  very  wicked  ;  nay,  often  are. 
It  is  true  there  are  particular  acts,  partaking  of  mean- 
nesses, rather  than  anything  decidedly  criminal,  that,  by 
convention,  a  gentleman  or  lady  may  not  commit  ;  but 
there  are  a  hundred  others,  that  are  far  worse,  which  are 
not  prohibited.  It  is  unlady-like  to  talk  scandal ;  but  it  is 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  83 

not  deemed  always  unlady-like  to  give  grounds  to  scan- 
dal. Here  is  a  bishop  who  has  lately  been  defining  a 
gentleman,  and,  as  usually  happens  with  such  men,  unless 
they  were  originally  on  a  level  with  their  dioceses,  he 
describes  a  'Christian'  rather  than  a  'gentleman.'  This 
notion  of  making  converts,  by  means  of  enlisting  our 
vanity  and  self-love  in  the  cause,  is  but  a  weak  one  at  the 
best." 

"  Certainly,  Mike  ;  I  agree  with  you  in  the  main.  As 
large  classes  of  polished  people  do  exist,  who  have  loose 
enough  notions  of  morals,  there  ought  to  be  terms  to 
designate  them,  as  a  class,  as  well  as  to  give  any  other 
name,  when  we  have  the  thing.  Use  has  applied  those  of 
*  gentlemen '  and  '  ladies,'  and  I  can  see  no  sufficient  reason 
for  changing  them." 

"It  comes  wholly  from  the  longings  of  human  vanity. 
As  a  certain  distinction  is  attached  to  the  term,  everybody 
is  covetous  of  obtaining  it,  and  all  sorts  of  reasoning  is 
resorted  to,  to  drag  them  into  the  categories.  It  would  be 
the  same,  if  it  were  a  ground  of  distinction,  to  have  but 
one  ear.  But  this  distinction  will  be  very  likely  to  make 
things  go  hard  with  our  client,  Jack,  if  the  jury  say 
'guilty.'  " 

"  The  jury  never  can — never  will  render  such  a  verdict ! 
I  do  not  think  the  grand  jury  will  even  return  a  bill.  Why 
should  they  ?  The  testimony  wouldn't  convict  an  old  state- 
prison  bird." 

Michael  Millington  smiled,  a  little  sadly,  perhaps — for 
John  Wilmeter  was  Sarah's  only  brother — but  he  made  no 
reply,  perceiving  that  an  old  negro,  named  Sip,  or  Scipio, 
who  lived  about  the  jail  by  a  sort  of  sufferance,  and  who 
had  now  been  a  voluntary  adherent  of  a  place  that  was 
usually  so  unpleasant  to  men  of  his  class  for  many  years, 
was  approaching,  as  if  he  were  the  bearer  of  a  message. 
Sip  was  an  old-school  black,  gray-headed,  and  had  seen 
more  than  his  three-score  years  and  ten.  No  wonder, 
then,  that  his  dialect  partook,  in  a  considerable  degree,  of 
the  peculiarities  that  were  once  so  marked  in  a  Manhattan 
"  nigger."  Unlike  his  brethren  of  the  present  day,  he  was 
courtesy  itself  to  all  "gentlemen,"  while  his  respect  for 
"  common  folks  "  was  a  good  deal  more  equivocal.  But 
chiefly  did  the  old  man  despise  "  yaller  fellers  ; "  these  he 
regarded  as  a  mongrel  race,  who  could  neither  aspire  to 
the  pure  complexion  of  the  Circassian  stock,  nor  lay  claim 
to  the  glistening  dye  of  Africa, 


84  THE  WAYS    OF  THE  HOUR. 

"  Mrs.  Gott,  she  want  to  see  masser,"  said  Scipio,  bowing 
to  John,  grinning — for  a  negro  seldom  loses  his  teeth — 
and  turning  civilly  to  Millington,  with  a  respectful  inclU 
nation  of  a  head  that  was  as  white  as  snow.  "  Yes,  sah  ; 
she  want  to  see  masser,  soon  as  conbe'nent,  and  soon  as  he 
can  come." 

Now  Mrs.  Gott  was  the  wife  of  the  sheriff,  and,  alas ! 
for  the  dignity  of  the  office  !  the  sheriff  was  the  keeper  of 
the  county  jail.  This  is  one  of  the  fruits  born  on  the 
wide-spreading  branches  of  the  tree  of  democracy.  For- 
merly a  New  York  sheriff  bore  a  strong  resemblance  to  his 
English  namesake.  He  was  one  of  the  county  gentry,  and 
executed  the  duties  of  his  office  with  an  air  and  a  manner ; 
appeared  in  court  with  a  sword,  and  carried  with  his  name 
a  weight  and  an  authority  that  now  are  nearly  wanting. 
Such  men  would  scarcely  become  jailers.  But  that  uni- 
versal root  of  all  evil,  the  love  of  money,  made  the  dis- 
covery that  there  was  profit  to  be  had  in  feeding  the 
prisoners,  and  a  lower  class  of  men  aspired  to  the  offices, 
and  obtained  them  ;  since  which  time,  more  than  half  of 
the  sheriffs  of  New  York  have  been  their  own  jailers. 

"  Do  you  knoww/y  Mrs.  Gott  wishes  to  see  me,  Scipio  ?" 
demanded  Wilmeter. 

c<  I  b'lieve,  sah,  dat  'e  young  woman  as  murders  old  Mas- 
ser Goodwin  and  he  wife,  asked  her  to  send  for  masser." 

This  was  plain  enough,  and  it  caused  Jack  a  severe 
pang  ;  for  it  showed  how  conclusively  and  unsparingly  the 
popular  mind  had  made  up  its  opinion  touching  Mary 
Monson's  guilt.  There  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  however ; 
and  the  young  man  hastened  toward  the  building  to  which 
the  jail  was  attached,  both  standing  quite  near  the  court- 
house. In  the  door  of  what  was  her  dwelling,  for  the  time 
being,  stood  Mrs.  Gott,  the  wife  of  the  high  sheriff  of  the 
county,  and  the  only  person  in  all  Biberry  who,  as  it  ap- 
peared to  John,  entertained  his  own  opinions  of  the  in- 
nocence of  the  accused.  But  Mrs.  Gott  was,  by  nature,  a 
kind-hearted  woman  ;  and,  though  so  flagrantly  out  of 
place  in  her  united  characters,  was  just  such  a  person  as 
ought  to  have  the  charge  of  the  female  department  of  a 
prison.  Owing  to  the  constant  changes  of  the  democratic 
principle  of  rotation  in  office,  one  of  the  most  impudent  of 
all  the  devices  of  a  covetous  envy,  this  woman  had  not 
many  months  before  come  out  of  the  bosom  of  society,  and 
had  not  seen  enough  of  the  ways  of  her  brief  and  novel 
situation  to  have  lost  any  of  those  qualities  of  her  sex, 


THE   WAYS    OF   TffE  HOUR.  85 

such  as  extreme  kindness,  gentleness  of  disposition,  and 
feminine  feeling,  that  are  anything  but  uncommon  among 
the  women  of  America.  In  many  particulars,  she  would 
have  answered  the  imaginative  bishop's  description  of  a 
"lady  ;"  but  she  would  have  been  sadly  deficient  in  some 
of  the  requisites  that  the  opinions  of  the  world  have  at- 
tached to  the  character.  In  these  last  particulars,  Mary 
Monson,  as  compared  with  this  worthy  matron,  was  like  a 
being  of  another  race  ;  though,  as  respects  the  first,  we 
shall  refer  the  reader  to  the  events  to  be  hereafter  related, 
that  he  may  decide  the  question  according  to  his  own 
judgment. 

"  Mary  Monson  has  sent  for  you,  Mr.  Wilmeter,"  the 
good  Mrs.  Gott  commenced,  in  a  low,  confidential  sort  of 
tone,  as  if  she  imagined  that  she  and  John  were  the  especial 
guardians  of  this  unknown  and  seemingly  ill-fated  young 
woman's  fortunes.  "  She  is  wonderfully  resigned  and  pa- 
tient— a  great  deal  more  patient  than  I  should  be,  if  I  was 
obliged  to  live  in  this  jail — that  is,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
strong  doors  ;  but  she  told  me,  an  hour  ago,  that  she  is  not 
sure,  after  all,  her  imprisonment  is  not  the  very  best  thing 
that  could  happen  to  her  !  " 

"  That  was  a  strange  remark  !"  returned  John.  "  Did  she 
make  it  under  a  show  of  feeling,  as  if  penitence,  or  any 
other  strong  emotion,  induced  her  to  utter  it  ?" 

"With  as  sweet  a  smile,  as  composed  a  manner,  and  as 
gentle  and  soft  a  voice  as  a  body  ever  sees,  or  listens  to  ! 
What  a  wonderfully  soft  and  musical  voice  she  has,  Mr. 
Wilmeter ! " 

"  She  has,  indeed.  I  was  greatly  struck  with  it,  the  mo- 
ment I  heard  her  speak.  How  much  like  a  lady,  Mrs.  Gott, 
she  uses  it — and  how  correct  and  well-pronounced  are  her 
words  ! " 

Although  Mrs.  Gott  and  John  Wilmeter  had  very  differ- 
ent ideas,  at  the  bottom,  of  the  requisites  to  form  a  lady, 
and  the  pronunciation  of  the  good  woman  was  by  no  means 
faultless,  she  cordially  assented  to  the  truth  of  the  young 
man's  eulogy.  Indeed,  Mary  Monson,  for  the  hour,  was 
her  great  theme  ;  and,  though  still  a  young  woman  herself, 
and  good-looking  withal,  she  really  seemed  never  to  tire  of 
uttering  her  praises. 

"  She  has  been  educated,  Mr.  Wilmeter,  far  above  any 
female  hereabouts,  unless  it  may  be  some  of  the s  and 

— s,"  the  good  woman  continued.  "Those  families,  you 
know,  are  our  upper  crust — not  upper  ten  thousand,  as  the 


86  THE  WAYS    OF    THE  HOUR. 

newspapers  call  it,  but  upper  hundred,  and  their  ladies 
may  know  as  much  as  Mary  ;  but,  beyond  them,  no  female 
hereabouts  can  hold  a  candle  to  her !  Her  books  have 
been  brought  in,  and  I  looked  them  over — there  isn't  more 
than  one  in  three  that  I  can  read  at  all.  What  is  more, 
they  don't  seem  to  be  all  in  one  tongue,  the  foreign  books, 
but  in  three  or  four." 

"  She  certainly  has  a  knowledge  of  several  of  the  living 
languages,  and  an  accurate  knowledge,  too.  I  know  a  lit- 
tle of  such  things  myself,  but  my  friend  Millington  is  quite 
strong  in  both  the  living  and  dead  languages,  and  he  says 
that  what  she  knows  she  knows  well." 

"  That  is  comforting — for  a  young  lady  that  can  speak 
so  many  different  tongues  would  hardly  think  of  robbing 
and  murdering  two  old  people  in  their  beds.  Well,  sir. 
perhaps  you  had  better  go  to  the  door  and  see  her,  though 
I  could  stay  here  and  talk  about  her  all  day.  Pray,  Mr. 
Wilmeter,  which  of  the  languages  is  really  dead  ?" 

John  smiled,  but  civilly  enlightened  the  sheriff's  lady  on 
this  point,  and  then,  preceded  by  her,  he  went  to  the  im- 
portant door  which  separated  the  dwelling  of  the  family 
from  the  rooms  of  the  jail.  Once  opened,  an  imperfect 
communication  is  obtained  with  the  interior  of  the  last,  by 
means  of  a  grating  in  an  inner  door.  The  jail  of  Dukes 
County  is  a  recent  construction,  and  is  built  on  a  plan  that 
is  coming  much  into  favor,  though  still  wanting  in  the 
highest  proof  of  civilization,  by  sufficiently  separating 
criminals,  and  in  treating  the  accused  with  a  proper  de- 
gree of  consideration,  until  the  verdict  of  a  jury  has  pro- 
nounced them  guilty. 

The  construction  of  this  jail  was  very  simple.  A  strong, 
low,  oblong  building  had  been  erected  on  a  foundation  so 
filled  in  with  stones  as  to  render  digging  nearly  impossible. 
The  floors  were  of  large,  massive  stones,  that  ran  across 
the  whole  building,  a  distance  of  some  thirty  feet,  or  if 
there  were  joints,  they  were  under  the  partition  walls,  ren- 
dering them  as  secure  as  if  solid.  The  cells  were  not  large, 
certainly,  but  of  sufficient  size  to  admit  of  light  and  air. 
The  ceilings  were  of  the  same  enormous  flat  stones  as  the 
floors,  well  secured  by  a  load  of  stones,  and  beams  to  brace 
them,  and  the  partitions  were  of  solid  masonry.  There 
the  prisoner  is  incased  in  stone,  and  nothing  can  be  more 
hopeless  than  an  attempt  to  get  out  of  one  of  these  cells, 
provided  the  jailer  gives  even  ordinary  attention  to  their 
condition.  Above  and  around  them  are  erected  the  outer 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  87 

walls  of  the  jail.  The  last  comprise  an  ordinary  stone 
house,  with  roof,  windows,  and  the  other  customary  appli- 
ances of  a  human  abode.  As  these  walls  stand  several 
ioc^  wl'^out  those  of  the  real  prison,  and  are  somewhat 
higher,  U>  latter  are  an  imperium  in  imperio  ;  a  house  with- 
in a  house.  ..'"  ^  space  between  the  walls  of  the  two  build- 
ings forms  a  galle*/  extending  around  all  the  cells.  Iron 
grated  gates  divide  ti-  •*  several  parts  of  this  gallery  into  so 
many  compartments,  ai  1  in  the  jail  of  Biberry  care  has 
been  had  so  to  arrange  th  se  subdivisions  that  those  within 
any  one  compartment  may  '^e  concealed  from  those  in  all 
of  the  others  but  the  two  th  t  immediately  join  it.  The 
breezes  are  admitted  .by  mea\.  '•  of  the  external  windows, 
while  the  height  of  the  ceiling  in  the  galleries,  and  the 
space  above  the  tops  of  the  ce^s,  contribute  largely  to 
comfort  and  health  in  this  important  particular.  As  the 
doors  of  the  cells  stand  opposite  to  the  windows,  the  entire 
jail  can  be,  and  usually  is,  made  airy  and  light.  Stoves  in 
the  galleries  preserve  the  temperature,  and  effectually  re- 
move all  disagreeable  moisture.  In  a  word,  the  place  is 
as  neat,  convenient,  and  decent  as  the  jail  of  convicts  need 
ever  to  be  ;  but  the  proper  sort  of  distinction  is  not  attend- 
ed to  between  them  and  those  who  are  merely  accused. 
Our  civilization  in  this  respect  is  defective.  While  the 
land  is  filled  with  senseless  cries  against  an  aristocracy 
which,  if  it  exist  at  all,  exists  in  the  singular  predicament 
of  being  far  less  favored  than  the  democracy,  involving  a 
contradiction  in  terms  ;  against  a  feudality  that  consists  in 
men's  having  bargained  to  pay  their  debts  in  chickens,  no 
one  complaining  in  behalf  of  those  who  have  entered  into 
contracts  to  do  the  same  in  wheat ;  and  against  rent,  while 
usury  is  not  only  smiled  on,  but  encouraged,  and  efforts  are 
made  to  legalize  extortion — the  public  mind  is  quiet  on  the 
subject  of  the  treatment  of  those  who  the  policy  of  govern- 
ment demands  should  be  kept  in  security  until  their  guilt 
or  innocence  be  established.  What  reparation,  under  such 
circumstances,  can  be  made  to  him  to  whom  the  gates  are 
finally  opened,  for  having  been  incarcerated  on  charges 
that  are  groundless  ?  The  jails  of  the  Christian  world 
were  first  constructed  by  an  irresponsible  power,  and  to 
confine  the  weak.  We  imitate  the  vices  of  the  system  with 
a  cold  indifference,  and  shout  "feudality"  over  a  bantam, 
or  a  pound  of  butter,  that  are  paid  under  contracted  cove 
nants  for  rent ! 


88  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Sir,  this  is  the  house;  please  it  you  that  I  call? 

— 7'aming  of  the  Shrew. 

THE  grated  window  which  John  Wilmeter  now  ap- 
proached, commanded  nearly  an  entire  view  of  the  gallery 
that  communicated  with  the  cell  of  Mary  Monson.  It  also 
commanded  a  partial  view  of  the  cell  itself.  As  he  looked 
through  the  grates,  he  saw  how  neat  and  comfortable  the 
last  had  been  made  by  means  of  Mrs.  Gott's  care,  aided, 
doubtless,  by  some  of  the  prisoner's  money — that  gold 
which  was,  in  fact,  the  strongest  and  only  very  material 
circumstance  against  her.  Mrs.  Gott  had  put  a  carpet  in 
the  cell,  and  divers  pieces  of  furniture  that  were  useful,  as 
well  as  two  or  three  that  were  intended  to  be  ornamental, 
rendering  the  otherwise  gloomy  little  apartment  tolerably 
cheerful.  The  gallery,  much  to  John's  surprise,  had  been 
furnished  also.  Pieces  of  new  carpeting  were  laid  on  the 
flags,  chairs  and  table  had  been  provided,  and  among  other 
articles  of  this  nature  was  a  very  respectable  looking-glass. 
Everything  appeared  new,  and  as  if  just  sent  from  the  dif- 
ferent shops  where  the  various  articles  were  sold.  Wil- 
meter fancied  that  not  less  than  a  hundred  dollars  had 
been  expended  in  furnishing  that  gallery.  The  effect  was 
surprising  ;  taking  away  from  the  place  the  chilling,  jail- 
like  air,  and  giving  to  it  what  it  had  never  possessed 
before,  one  of  household  comfort. 

Mary  Monson  was  walking  to  and  fro,  in  this  gallery, 
with  slow,  thoughtful  steps,  her  head  a  little  bowed,  and 
her  hands  hanging  before  her,  with  the  fingers  interlocked. 
So  completely  was  she  lost  in  thought,  that  John's  foot- 
step, or  presence  at  the  grate,  was  not  observed,  and  he 
had  an  opportunity  to  watch  her  for  near  a  minute,  unseen 
himself.  The  occupation  was  not  exactly  excusable  ;  but, 
under  all  the  circumstances,  young  Wilmeter  felt  as  if  it 
might  be  permitted.  It  was  his  duty  to  ascertain  all  he 
fairly  might,  concerning  his  client. 

It  has  already  been  said  that  this  strange  girl,  extraordi- 
nary by  her  situation  as  a  person  accused  of  crimes  so 
heinous,  and  perhaps  still  more  so  by  her  manner  of  bear- 
ing up  against  the  terrors  and  mortifications  of  her  condi- 
tion, as  well  as  by  the  mystery  which  so  completely  veiled 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  89 

her  past  life,  was  not  a  beauty,  in  the  common  acceptation 
of  the  term.  Nevertheless,  not  one  female  in  ten  thousand 
\vvjn^  -ooner  ensnare  the  heart  of  a  youth,  by  means  of 
her  perso.-  -1  attractions  alone.  It  was  not  regularity  of 
features,  nor  -illiancy  of  complexion,  nor  lustre  of  the 
eyes,  nor  any  of  tn..  more  ordinary  charms,  that  gave  her 
this  power  ;  but  an  indescribable  union  of  feminine  traits, 
in  which  intellectual  gu  s,  spirit,  tenderness,  and  modesty, 
were  so  singularly  blena  d  as  to  leave  it  questionable 
which  had  the  advantage.  /Tereyes  were  of  a  very  gentle 
and  mild  expression,  when  in  '  state  of  rest  ;  excited,  they 
were  capable  of  opening  windo  rs  to  the  inmost  soul.  Her 
form  was  faultless  ;  being  the  tru  '  medium  between  vigor- 
ous health  and  womanly  delicacy  ,  which,  in  this  country, 
implies  much  less  of  the  robust  and  solid  than  one  meets 
with  in  the  other  hemisphere. 

It  is  not  easy  to  tell  how  we  acquired  those  in-and-in 
habits,  which  get  to  be  a  sort  of  second  nature,  and  almost 
bestow  on  us  new  instincts.  It  is  by  these  secret  sympa- 
thies,  these  tastes  that  pervade  the  moral,  as  the  nerves 
form  a  natural  telegraph  through  the  physical,  system,  that 
one  feels  rather  than  sees,  when  he  is  in  the  company  of 
persons  in  his  own  class  in  life.  Dress  will  not  afford  an 
infallible  test  on  such  an  occasion,  though  the  daw  is  in- 
stantly seen  not  to  be  the  peacock  ;  neither  will  address, 
for  the  distinctive  qualities  lie  much  deeper  than  the  sur- 
face. But  so  it  is  ;  a  gentleman  can  hardly  be  brought 
into  the  company  of  man  or  woman,  without  his  at  once 
perceiving  whether  he  or  she  belongs  to  his  own  social 
caste  or  not.  What  is  more,  if  a  man  of  the  world,  he  de- 
tects almost  instinctively  the  degrees  of  caste,  as  well  as  the 
greater  subdivisions,  and  knows  whether  his  strange  com- 
panions have  seen  much,  or  little  ;  whether  their  gentility 
is  merely  the  result  of  the  great  accident,  with  its  custom- 
ary advantages,  or  has  been  smoothed  over  by  a  liberal 
intercourse  writh  the  better  classes  of  a  general  society. 
Most  of  all,  may  a  travelled  person  be  known — and  that 
more  especially  in  a  provincial  country  like  our  own — from 
one  that  has  not  travelled  ;  though  the  company  kept  in 
other  lands  necessarily  draws  an  obvious  distinction  be- 
tween the  last.  Now  John  Wil meter,  always  mingling 
with  the  best  society  of  his  own  country,  had  also  been 
abroad,  and  had  obtained  that  "second-sight"  which  so 
insensibly,  but  certainly,  increases  the  vision  of  all  Ameri- 
cans who  enjoy  the  advantage  of  acquiring  it.  What  is 


90  THE   WA  VS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

more,  though  his  years  and  the  plans  of  his  uncle  for  his 
future  welfare  had  prevented  his  staying  in  Europe  long 
enough  to  receive  all  the  benefit  such  a  tour  can  bestow, 
he  had  remained  long  enough  to  pass  beyond  the  study  of 
merely  physical  things  ;  and  had  made  certain  acquisitions 
in  other  matters,  more  essential  to  taste  if  not  to  charac- 
ter. When  an  American  returns  from  an  excursion  into 
the  Old  World,  with  "  I  come  back  better  satisfied  than 
ever  with  my  own  country,"  it  is  an  infallible  sign  that  he 
did  not  stay  long  enough  abroad  ;  and  when  he  returns 
only  to  find  fault,  it  is  equally  proof  that  he  has  stayed  too 
long.  There  is  a  happy  medium  which  teaches  something 
near  the  truth,  and  that  would  tell  us  that  there  are  a  thou- 
sand things  to  be  amended  and  improved  at  home,  while 
there  are  almost  as  many  enjoyed,  that  the  oldest  and  most 
polished  people  on  earth  might  envy.  John  Wilmeter  had 
not  reached  the  point  that  enabled  him  to  make  the  nicest 
distinctions,  but  he  was  sufficiently  advanced  to  have  de- 
tected what  he  conceived  to  be  signs  that  this  singular 
young  creature,  unknown,  unsupported  by  any  who  ap- 
peared to  take  an  interest  in  her,  besides  himself  and  the 
accidental  acquaintances  formed  under  the  most  painful 
circumstances,  had  been  abroad  ;  perhaps  had  been  edu- 
cated there.  The  'regulated  tones  of  one  of  the  sweetest 
voices  he  had  ever  heard,  the  distinctness  and  precision  of 
her  utterance,  as  far  as  possible  removed  from  mouthing 
and  stiffness,  but  markedly  quiet  and  even,  with  a  total 
absence  of  all  the  affectations  of  boarding-school  grammar, 
were  so  many  proofs  of  even  a  European  education,  as  he 
fancied  ;  and  before  that  week  was  terminated,  John  had 
fully  made  up  his  mind  that  Mary  Monson — though  an 
American  by  birth,  about  which  there  could  be  no  dispute 
— had  been  well  taught  in  some  of  the  schools  of  the  Old 
World. 

This  was  a  conclusion  not  reached  immediately.  He 
had  to  be  favored  with  several  interviews,  and  to  worm 
himself  gradually  into  the  confidence  of  his  uncle's  client, 
ere  he  could  be  permitted  to  see  enough  of  the  subject  of 
his  studies  to  form  an  opinion  so  abstruse  and  ingenious. 

When  Mary  Monson  caught  a  glimpse  of  John  Wil- 
meter's  head  at  her  grate — where  he  stood  respectfully 
uncovered,  as  in  a  lady's  presence — a  slight  flush  passed 
over  her  face  ;  but  expecting  him,  as  she  did,  she  could 
not  well  be  surprised. 

"  This  bears  some  resemblance,  Mr.  Wilmeter,  to  an  in- 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  9i 

terview  in  a  convent,"  she  then  said,  with  a  slight  smile, 
but  with  perfect  composure  of  manner.  "  I  am  the  novice 
— and  novice  am  I,  indeed,  to  scenes  like  this — you,  the  ex- 
cluded friend,  who  is  compelled  to  pay  his  visit  through  a 
grate !  I  must  apologize  for  all  the  trouble  I  am  giving  you." 

"Do  not  name  it — I  cannot  be  better  employed  than  in 
your  behalf.  I  am  rejoiced  that  you  sustain  yourself  so 
well  against  what  must  be  a  most  unheard-of  calamity  for 
one  like  yourself,  and  cannot  but  admire  the  admirable 
equanimity  with  which  you  bear  your  cruel  fortune." 

"Equanimity.!"  repeated  Mary  with  emphasis,  and  a 
slight  display  of  intense  feeling  powerfully  controlled  ;  "  if 
it  be  so,  Mr.  Wilmeter,  it  must  be  from  the  sense  of  se- 
curity that  I  feel.  Yes  ;  for  the  first  time  in  months,  I  do 
feel  myself  safe — secure." 

"  Safe  !     Secure  !     What,  in  a  jail  ? " 

"  Certainly  ;  jails  are  intended  for  places  of  security,  are 
they  not?"  answered  Mary,  smiling,  but  faintly  and  with 
a  gleam  of  sadness  on  her  face.  **  This  may  appear  won- 
derful to  you,  but  I  do  tell  no  more  than  sober  truth,  in 
repeating  that,  for  the  first  time  in  months,  I  have  now 
a  sense  of  security.  I  am  what  you  call  in  the  hands  of 
the  law,  and  one  there  must  be  safe  from  everything  but 
what  the  law  can  do  to  her.  Of  that  I  have  no  serious 
apprehensions,  and  I  feel  happy." 

"Happy!" 

"  Yes  ;  by  comparison,  happy.  I  tell  you  this  the  more 
willingly,  for  I  plainly  see  you  feel  a  generous  interest  in 
my  welfare — an  interest  which  exceeds  that  of  the  counsel 
in  his  client- " 

"A  thousand  times  exceeds  it,  Miss  Monson  !  Nay — is 
not  to  be  named  with  it ! " 

"  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Wilmeter — from  my  heart  I  thank 
you,"  returned  the  prisoner,  a  slight  flush  passing  over 
her  features,  while  her  eyes  were  cast  toward  the  floor. 
"  I  believe  your  are  one  of  strong  feelings  and  quick  im- 
pulses, and  am  grateful  that  these  have  been  in  my  favor, 
under  circumstances  that  might  well  have  excused  you  for 
thinking  the  worst.  From  the  hints  of  this  kind  woman, 
Mrs.  Gott,  I  am  afraid  that  the  opinion  of  Biberry  is  less 
consoling  ? " 

"  You  must  know  how  it  is  in  country  villages,  Miss 
Monson — every  one  has  something  to  say,  and  every  one 
brings  all  things  down  to  the  level  of  his  own  knowledge 
and  understanding." 


92  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

Mary  Monson  smiled  again  ;  this  time  more  naturally, 
and  without  any  painful  expression  to  lessen  the  bright 
influence  that  lighting  up  of  her  features  gave  to  a  counte- 
nance so  remarkable  for  its  appearance  of  illumination 
from  within. 

"  Is  not  such  the  case  in  towns,  as  well  as  in  villages, 
Mr.  Wilmeter?"  she  asked. 

"  Perhaps  it  is — but  I  mean  that  the  circle  of  knowledge 
is  more  confined  in  a  place  like  this,  than  in  a  large  town, 
and  that  the  people  here  could  not  well  go  beyond  it." 

"  Biberry  is  so  near  New  York,  that  I  should  think,  tak- 
ing class  against  class,  no  great  difference  can  be  found  in 
their  inhabitants.  That  which  the  good  folk  of  Biberry 
think  of  my  case,  I  am  afraid  will  be  thought  of  it  by  those 
of  your  own  town." 

"My  own  town? — and  are  you  not  really  from  New 
York,  Miss  Monson." 

"  In  no  manner,"  answered  Mary,  once  more  smiling  ; 
this  time,  however,  because  she  understood  how  modestly 
and  readily  her  companion  was  opening  a  door  by  which 
she  might  let  a  secret  she  had  declined  to  reveal  to  his 
uncle,  escape.  "  I  am  not  what  you  call  a  Manhattanese,  in 
either  descent,  birth,  or  residence  ;  in  no  sense,  whatever." 

"  But,  surely,  you  have  never  been  educated  in  the  coun- 
try ?  You  must  belong  to  some  large  town — your  manners 
show  that — I  mean  that  you " 

"  Do  not  belong  to  Biberry.  In  that  you  are  quite 
right,  sir,  I  had  never  seen  Biberry  three  months  since  ; 
but,  as  for  New  York,  I  have  not  passed  a  month  there, 
in  my  whole  life.  The  longest  visit  I  ever  paid  you  was 
one  of  ten  days,  when  I  landed,  coming  from  Havre,  about 
eighteen  months  since." 

"  From  Havre  !  Surely,  you  are  an  American,  Miss 
Monson— our  own  countrywoman  ?" 

"Your  own  countrywoman,  Mr.  Wilmeter,  by  birth, 
descent,  and  feelings.  But  an  American  female  may  visit 
Europe." 

"  Certainly  ;  and  be  educated  there,  as  I  had  already 
suspected  was  your  case." 

"In  part  it  was,  and  in  part  it  was  not."  Here  Mary 
paused,  looked  a  little  arch,  seemed  to  hesitate,  and  to 
have  some  doubts  whether  she  ought  to  proceed,  or  not ; 
but  finally  added — "You  have  been  abroad  yourself?" 

"  I  have.  I  was  nearly  three  years  in  Europe  ;  and  have 
not  been  home  yet  quite  a  twelvemonth." 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 


93 


"You1  went  into  the  East,  I  believe,  after  passing  a  few 
months  in  the  Pyrenees  ? "  continued  the  prisoner,  care- 
lessly. 

"  You  are  quite  right ;  we  travelled  as  far  as  Jerusalem. 
The  journey  has  got  to  be  so  common  that  it  is  no  longer 
dangerous.  Even  ladies  make  it  now  without  any  appre- 
hension." 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,  having  made  it  myself *' 

"You,  Miss  Monson  !     You  have  been  at  Jerusalem  !  " 

"Why  not,  Mr.  Wilmeter?  You  say  yourself,  that  fe- 
males constantly  make  the  journey  ;  why  not  I  as  well  as 
another  ? " 

"  I  scarce  know,  myself ;  but  it  is  so  strange — all  about 
you  is  so  very  extraordinary — 

"You  think  it  extraordinary  that  one  of  my  sex,  who 
has  been  partly  educated  in  Europe,  and  who  has  travelled 
in  the  Holy  Land,  should  be  shut  up  in  this  jail  in  Biberry 
— is  it  not  so  ? " 

"  That  is  one  view  of  the  matter,  I  will  confess  ;  but  it 
was  scarcely  less  strange  that  such  a  person  should  be 
dwelling  in  a  garret-room  of  a  cottage  like  that  of  these 
unfortunate  Goodwins." 

"  That  touches  on  my  secret,  sir ;  and  no  more  need  be 
said.  You  may  judge  how  important  I  consider  that  se- 
cret, when  I  know  its  preservation  subjects  me  to  the  most 
cruel  distrust ;  and  that,  too,  in  the  minds  of  those  with 
whom  I  would  so  gladly  stand  fair.  ,  Your  excellent  uncle, 
for  instance,  and — yourself." 

"  I  should  be  much  flattered  could  I  think  the  last — I, 
who  have  scarcely  the  claim  of  an  acquaintance." 

"You  forget  the  situation  in  which  your  respectable  and 
most  worthy  uncle  has  left  you  here,  Mr.  Wilmeter ;  which, 
of  itself,  gives  you  higher  claims  to  my  thanks  and  confi- 
dence than  any  that  mere  acquaintance  could  bestow.  Be- 
sides, we  are  not  " — another  arch,  but  scarcely  perceptible, 
smile  again  illuminated  that  remarkable  countenance — 
"the  absolute  strangers  to  each  other  that  you  seem  to 
think  us." 

"  Not  strangers  ?  You  amaze  me  !  If  I  have  ever  had 
the  honor— 

"  Honor  !  "  interrupted  Mary,  a  little  bitterly.  "  It  is 
truly  a  great  honor  to  know  one  in  my  situation  ! " 

"  I  esteem  it  an  honor  ;  and  no  one  has  a  right  to  call  in 
question  my  sincerity.  If  we  have  ever'met  before,  I  will 
frankly  own  that  I  am  ignorant  of  both  the  time  and  place." 


94  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

"  This  does  not  surprise  me  in  the  least.  The  time  is 
long,  for  persons  as  young  as  ourselves,  and  the  place  was 
far  away.  Ah !  those  were  happy  days  for  me,  and  most 
gladly  would  I  return  to  them  !  But  we  have  talked 
enough  on  this  subject.  I  have  declined  telling  my  tale 
to  your  most  excellent  and  very  respectable  uncle;  you 
will,  therefore,  the  more  easily  excuse  me  if  I  decline  tell- 
ing it  to  you." 

"  Who  am  not  '  most  excellent  and  very  respectable,'  to 
recommend  me." 

"Who  are  too  near  my  own  age  to  make  you  a  proper 
confidant,  were  there  no  other  objection.  The  character  that 
I  learned  of  you,  when  we  met  before,  Mr.  Wilmeter,  was, 
however,  one  of  which  you  have  no  reason  to  be  ashamed." 

This  was  said  gently,  but  earnestly  ;  was  accompanied 
by  a  most  wanning  smile,  and  was  instantly  succeeded  by 
a  slight  blush.  John  Wilmeter  rubbed  his  forehead,  sooth 
to  say,  in  a  somewhat  stupid  manner,  as  if  expecting  to 
brighten  his  powers  of  recollection  by  friction.  A  sudden 
change  was  given  to  the  conversation,  however,  by  the  fair 
prisoner  herself,  who  quietly  resumed  : 

"We  will  defer  this  part  of  the  subject  to  another  time. 
I  did  not  presume  to  send  for  you,  Mr.  Wilmeter,  without 
an  object,  having  your  uncle's  authority  for  giving  you  all 
this  trouble " 

"  And  my  own  earnest  request  to  be  permitted  to  serve 
you  in  any  way  I  could." 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  that  offer,  nor  shall  I  ever.  The 
man  who  is  willing  to  serve  a  woman  whom  all  around  her 
frown  on,  has  a  fair  claim  to  be  remembered.  Good  Mrs. 
Gott  and  yourself  are  the  only  two  friends  I  have  in  Bi- 
berry.  Even  your  companion,  Mr.  Millington,  is  a  little 
disposed  to  judge  me  harshly." 

John  started  ;  the  movement  was  so  natural  that  his 
honest  countenance  would  have  betrayed  him  had  he  been 
disposed  to  deny  the  imputation. 

"That  Millington  has  fallen  into  the  popular  notion 
about  here,  I  must  allow,  Miss  Monson  ;  but  he  is  an  ex- 
cellent fellow  at  the  bottom,  and  will  hear  reason.  Preju- 
dices that  are  beyond  reason  are  detestable,  and  I  generally 
avoid  those  whose  characters  manifest  this  weakness  ;  but 
Mike  will  always  listen  to  what  he  calls  '  law  and  facts,' 
and  so  we  get  along  very  well  together." 

"  It  ?.s  fortunate  ;  since  you  are  about  to  be  so  nearly 
connected " 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  95 

"Connected  !  Is  it  possible  that  you  know  tMn  circum- 
stance ? " 

"You  will  find  in  the  end,  Mr.  Wilmeter,"  returned  the 
prisoner,  smiling — this  time  naturally,  as  one  manifests 
satisfaction  without  pain  of  any  sort — "  that  I  know  more 
of  your  private  affairs  than  you  had  supposed.  But  let  me 
come  to  business,  if  you  please,  sir.  I  have  greaf  occasion 
here  for  a  maid-servant.  Do  you  not  think  that  Miss  Wil- 
ineter  might  send  me  one  from  town  ?" 

"A  servant !  I  know  the  very  woman  that  will  suit  you. 
A  perfect  jewel,  in  her  way ! " 

"That  is  a  very  housekeeper  sort  of  a  character,"  re- 
joined Mary,  absolutely  laughing,  in  spite  of  her  prison 
walls  and  all  the  terrible  charges  that  had  brought  her 
within  them  ;  "just  such  a  character  as  I  might  have  ex- 
pected from  Doctor  McBrain's  intended,  Mrs.  Updyke — 

"  And  you  know  it,  too  !  Why  will  you  not  tell  us  more, 
since  you  tell  us  so  much  ?" 

"In  good  time,  I  suppose  all  will  come  out.  \V  ell,  I  en- 
deavor to  submit  to  my  fate,  or  to  the  will  o!  God ! " 
There  was  no  longer  anything  merry,  in  voice,  face,  or 
manner,  but  a  simple,  natural  pathos  was  singular  y  mixed 
in  the  tones  with  which  those  few  words  were  uttered. 
Then  rousing  herself,  she  gravely  resumed  tht  subject 
which  had  induced  her  to  send  for  John. 

"You  will  pardon  me  if  I  say  that  I  would  prefer  a 
woman  chosen  and  recommended  by  your  sister,  l^r,  Wil- 
meter, than  one  chosen  and  recommended  by  yoVrself," 
said  Mary.  "When  I  shall  have  occasion  for  a  fooi^an,  I 
will  take  your  advice.  It  is  very  important  that  I  should 
engage  a  respectable,  discreet  woman  ;  and  I  will  venture 
to  write  a  line,  myself,  to  Miss  Wilmeter,  if  you  will  be  so 
kind  as  to  send  it.  I  know  this  is  not  the  duty  of  a  coun- 
sel ;  but  you  see  my  situation.  Mrs.  Gott  has  offered  to 
procure  a  girl  for  me,  it  is  true ;  but  the  prejudice  is  so 
strong  against  me  in  Biberry,  that  I  doubt  if  the  proper 
sort  of  person  could  be  obtained.  At  any  rate,  I  should 
be  receiving  a  spy  into  my  little  household,  instead  of  a 
domestic  in  whom  I  could  place  confidence/' 

"  Sarah  would  join  me  in  recommending  Marie,  who 
has  been  with  herself  more  than  two  years,  and  only  left 
her  to  take  care  of  her  father  in  his  last  illness.  Another, 
equally  excellent,  has  been  taken  in  her  place  ;  and  now, 
that  she  wishes  to  return  to  my  sister's  service,  there  is  no 
opening  for  her.  Mike  Millington  is  dying  to  return  to 


gb  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

town,  and  will  gladly  go  over  this  evening.  By  breakfast 
time  to-morrow  the  woman  might  be  here,  if— 

"  She  will  consent  to  serve  a  mistress  in  my  cruel  situa- 
tion. I  feel  the  full  weight  of  the  objection,  and  know 
how  difficult  it  will  be  to  get  a  female,  who  values  her 
character  as  a  servant,  to  enter  on  such  an  engagement. 
You  called  this  woman  Marie  ;  by  that  I  take  it  she  is  a 
foreigner  ? " 

"  A  Swiss — her  parents  emigrated  ;  but  I  knew  her  in 
the  service  of  an  American  family  abroad  and  got  her  for 
Sarah.  She  is  the  best  creature  in  the  world — if  she  can 
be  persuaded  to  come." 

"  Had  she  been  an  American  I  should  have  despaired 
of  succeeding  unless  her  feelings  could  have  been  touched  ; 
but,  as  she  is  a  foreigner,  perhaps  money  will  procure  her 
service.  Should  Miss  Wilmeter  approve  of  your  selection, 
sir,  I  will  entreat  her  to  go  as  high  as  fifty  dollars  a  month, 
rather  than  not  get  the  sort  of  person  I  want.  You  can 
imagine  how  much  importance  I  attach  to  success.  To 
escape  remarks  and  gossiping,  the  person  engaged  can 
join  me  as  a  companion,  or  friend,  and  not  as  a  servant." 

"  I  will  get  Mike  off  in  half  an  hour,  and  Sarah  will  at 
least  make  an  effort.  Yes,  Marie  Moulin,  or  Mary  Mill, 
as  the  girls  call  her,  is  just  the  thing ! " 

"  Marie  Moulin  !  Is  that  the  name  of  the  woman  ?  She 
who  was  in  the  service  of  the  Barringers,  at  Paris  ?  Do 
you  mean  that  person — five  and  thirty,  slightly  pock- 
marked, with  light-blue  eyes,  and  yellowish  hair — more 
like  a  German  than  her  French  name  would  give  reason 
to  expect  ?" 

''The  very  same;  and  you  knew  her,  too!  Why  not 
bring  all  your  friends  around  you  at  once,  Miss  Monson, 
and  not  remain  here  an  hour  longer  than  is  necessary." 

Mary  was  too  intent  on  the  subject  of  engaging  the 
woman  in  question,  to  answer  this  last  appeal.  Earnestly 
did  she  resume  her  instructions,  therefore,  and  with  an 
eagerness  of  manner  young  Wilmeter  had  never  before 
observed  in  her. 

"  If  Marie  Moulin  be  the  person  meant,"  she  said,  "  I 
will  spare  no  pains  to  obtain  her  services.  Her  attentions 
to  Mrs.  Barringer,  in  her  last  illness,  were  admirable  ;  and 
we  all  loved  her,  I  may  say.  Beg  your  sister  to  tell  her, 
Mr.  Wilmeter,  that  an  old  acquaintance,  in  distress,  im- 
plores her  assistance.  That  will  bring  Marie,  sooner  than 
money,  Swiss  though  she  be." 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  97 

"  If  you  would  write  her  a  line,  inclosing  your  real 
name,  for  we  are  persuaded  it  is  not  Monson,  it  might 
have  more  effect  than  all  our  solicitations,  in  behalf  of 
one  that  is  unknown." 

The  prisoner  turned  slowly  from  the  grate  and  walked 
up  and  down  her  gallery  for  a  minute  or  two,  as  if  pon- 
dering on  this  proposal.  Once  she  smiled,  and  it  almost 
gave  a  lustre  to  her  remarkable  countenance  ;  then  a  cloud 
passed  over  her  face,  and  once  more  she  appeared  sad. 

"No,"  she  said,  stopping  near  the  grate  again,  in  one  of 
her  turns.  "  I  will  not  do  it — it  will  be  risking  too  much. 
I  can  do  nothing,  just  now,  that  will  tell  more  of  me  than 
your  sister  can  state." 

"  Should  Marie  Moulin  know  you,  she  must  recognize 
you  when  you  meet." 

"  It  will  be  wiser  to  proceed  a  little  in  the  dark.  I  con- 
fide all  to  your  powers  of  negotiation,  and  shall  remain 
as  tranquil  as  possible  until  to-morrow  morning.  There 
is  still  another  little  affair  that  I  must  trouble  you  with, 
Mr.  Wilmeter.  My  gold  is  sequestered,  as  you  know,  and 
I  am  reduced  to  an  insufficient  amount  of  twos  and  threes. 
Might  I  ask  the  favor  of  you  to  obtain  smaller  notes  for 
this,  without  mentioning  in  whose  behalf  it  is  done  ? " 

While  speaking  Mary  handed  through  the  grate  a  hun- 
dred dollar  note  of  one  of  the  New  York  banks,  with  a 
manner  so  natural  and  unpretending,  as  at  once  to  con- 
vince John  Wilmeter,  ever  so  willing  to  be  persuaded  into 
anything  in  her  favor,  that  she  was  accustomed  to  the  use 
of  money  in  considerable  sums  ;  or,  what  might  be  consid- 
ered so,  for  the  wants  and  habits  of  a  female.  Luckily, 
he  had  nearly  money  enough  in  his  wallet  to  change  the 
note,  making  up  a  small  balance  that  was  needed,  by 
drawing  five  half-eagles  from  his  purse.  The  prisoner  held 
the  last,  in  the  open  palm  of  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
little  hands  the  eyes  of  man  ever  rested  on. 

"  This  metal  has  been  my  bane,  in  more  ways  than  one, 
Mr.  Wilmeter,"  she  said,  looking  mournfully  at  the  coin. 
"Of  one  of  its  evil  influences  on  my  fate,  I  may  not  speak 
now,  if  ever  ;  but  you  will  understand  me  when  I  say, 
that  I  fear  that  gold  piece  of  Italian  money  is  the  princi- 
pal cause  of  my  being  where  I  am." 

"  No  doubt  it  has  been  considered  one  of  the  most  ma- 
terial of  the  facts  against  you,  Miss  Monson,  though  it  is 
by  no  means  conclusive,  as  evidence,  even  with  the  most 
bitter  and  prejudiced.'' 

7 


98  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

"  I  hope  not.  Now,  Mr.  Wilmeter,  I  will  detain  you  no 
longer,  but  beg  you  to  do  my  commission  with  your  sister, 
as  you  would  do  it  for  her  with  me.  I  would  write,  but 
my  hand  is  so  peculiar  it  were  better  that  I  did  not." 

Mary  Monson  now  dismissed  the  young  man,  with  the 
manner  of  one  very  familiar  with  the  tone  of  good  society 
— a  term  that  it  is  much  the  fashion  to  ridicule  just  now, 
but  which  conveys  a  meaning  that  it  were  better  the  scof- 
fers understood.  This  she  did,  however,  after  again  apol- 
ogizing for  the  trouble  she  was  giving,  and  thanking  him 
earnestly  for  the  interest  he  took  in  her  affairs.  We  be- 
lieve in  animal  magnetism  ;  and  cannot  pretend  to  say 
what  is  the  secret  cause  of  the  powerful  sympathy  that  is 
so  often  suddenly  awakened  between  persons  of  different 
sexes,  and,  in  some  instances,  between  those  who  are  of 
the  same  sex  ;  but  Mary  Monson,  by  that  species  of  in- 
stinct that  teaches  the  female  where  she  has  awakened  an 
interest  livelier  than  common,  and  possibly  where  she  has 
not,  was  certainly  already  aware  that  John  Wilmeter  did 
not  regard  her  with  the  same  cool  indifference  he  would 
have  felt  toward  an  ordinary  client  of  his  uncle's.  In 
thanking  him,  therefore,  her  own  manner  manifested  a 
little  of  the  reflected  feeling  that  such  a  state  of  things  is 
pretty  certain  to  produce.  She  colored,  and  slightly  hesi- 
tated once,  as  if  she  paused  to  choose  her  terms  with  more 
than  usual  care  ;  but,  in  the  main,  acquitted  herself  well. 
The  parting  betrayed  interest,  perhaps  feeling,  on  both 
sides,  but  nothing  very  manifest  escaped  either  of  our 
young  people. 

Never  had  John  Wilmeter  been  at  a  greater  loss  to  inter- 
pret facts,  than  he  was  on  quitting  the  grate.  The  prisoner 
was  truly  the  most  incomprehensible  being  he  had  ever 
met  with.  Notwithstanding  the  fearful  nature  of  the 
charges  against  her— charges  that  might  well  have  given 
great  uneasiness  to  the  firmest  man — she  actually  seemed 
in  love  with  her  prison.  It  is  true,  that  worthy  Mrs.  Gott 
had  taken  from  the  place  many  of  its  ordinary,  repulsive 
features  ;  but  it  was  still  a  jail,  and  the  sun  could  be  seen 
only  through  grates,  and  massive  walls  separated  her  that 
was  within,  from  the  world  without.  As  the  young  man 
was  predisposed  to  regard  everything  connected  with  this 
extraordinary  young  woman,  couleur  de  rose,  however,  he 
saw  nothing  but  the  surest  signs  of  innocence  in  several 
circumstances  that  might  have  increased  the  distrust  of 
his  cooler-headed  uncle  ;  but  most  persons  would  have  re- 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  99 

garded  the  gentle  tranquillity,  that  now  seemed  to  soothe 
a  spirit  that  had  evidently  been  much  troubled  of  late,  as 
a  sign  that  her  hand  could  never  have  committed  the  atroc- 
ities with  which  she  was  charged. 

"  Is  she  not  a  sweet  young  thing,  Mr.  Wilmeter?"  ex- 
claimed kind  Mrs.  Gott,  while  locking  the  doors  after 
John,  on  his  retiring  from  the  grate.  "  I  consider  it  an 
honor  to  Biberry  jail  to  have  such  a  prisoner  within  its 
walls  ! "  • 

"  I  believe  that  you  and  I  stand  alone  in  our  favorable 
opinion  of  Miss  Monson,"  John  answered  ;  "so  far,  at  least, 
as  Biberry  is  concerned.  The  excitement  against  her  seems 
to  be  at  the  highest  pitch  ;  and  I  much  doubt  whether  a 
fair  trial  can  be  had  in  the  county." 

"The  newspapers  won't  mend  the  matter  sir.  The 
papers  from  town  this  morning  are  full  of  the  affair,  and 
they  all  appear  to  lean  the  same  way.  But  it's  a  long  road 
that  has  no  turning,  Mr.  Wilmeter." 

"  Very  true,  and  nothing  wheels  about  with  a  quicker 
step  than  the  sort  of  public  opinion  that  is  got  up  under 
a  cry,  and  runs  itself  out  of  breath  at  the  start.  I  expect 
to  see  Mary  Monson  the  most  approved  and  most  extolled 
woman  in  this  county,  yet !" 

Mrs.  Gott  hoped  with  all  her  heart  that  it  might  be  so, 
though  she  had,  certainly,  misgivings  that  the  young  man 
did  not  feel.  Half  an  hour  after  John  Wilmeter  had  left 
the  jail,  his  friend  Michael  Millington  was  on  the  road  to 
town,  carrying  a  letter  to  Sarah,  with  a  most  earnest  re- 
quest that  she  would  use  all  her  influence  with  Marie 
Moulin  to  engage  in  the  unusual  service  asked  of  her,  for 
a  few  weeks,  if  for  no  longer  a  period.  This  letter  reached 
its  destination  in  due  time,  and  greatly  did  the  sister  mar- 
vel over  its  warmth,  as  well  as  over  the  nature  of  the  re- 
quest. 

"  I  never  knew  John  to  write  so  earnestly  !"  exclaimed 
Sarah,  when  she  and  Michael  had  talked  over  the  matter 
a  few  moments.  "  Were  he  actually  in  love,  I  could  not 
expect  him  to  be  more  pressing." 

"  I  will  not  swear  that  he  is  not,"  returned  the  friend, 
laughing.  "  He  sees  everything  with  eyes  so  different 
from  mine,  that  I  scarce  know  what  to  make  of  him.  I 
have  never  known  John  so  deeply  interested  in  any  hu- 
man being,  as  he  is  at  this  moment  in  this  strange  creat- 


ure 


"  Creature  !     You  men  do  not  often  call  young  ladies 


loo  THE   WA  YS    OF   TITR  HOUR. 

creatures  ;  and  my  brother  affirms  that  this  Mary  Monson 
is  a  lady." 

"  Certainly  she  is,  so  far  as  exterior,  manner,  education, 
and,  I  suppose,  tastes,  are  concerned.  Nevertheless,  there 
is  too  much  reason  to  think  she  is,  in  some  way  unknown 
to  us,  connected  with  crime." 

"  I  have  read  accounts  of  persons  of  these  attainments 
who  have  been  leagued  together,  and  have  carried  on  a 
great  system  of  plundering  for  years,  with  prodigious  suc- 
cess. That,  however,  was  in  older  countries,  where  the 
necessities  of  a  crowded  population  drive  men  into  ex- 
tremes. We  are  hardly  sufficiently  advanced,  or  civilized 
as  they  call  it,  for  such  bold  villany." 

"  A  suspicion  of  that  nature  has  crossed  my  mind,"  re- 
turned Millington,  looking  askance  over  his  shoulder,  as 
if  he  apprehended  that  his  friend  might  hear  him.  "It 
will  not  do,  however,  to  remotely  hint  to  John  anything 
of  the  sort.  His  mind  is  beyond  the  influence  of  testi- 
mony." 

Sarah  scarce  knew  what  to  make  of  the  affair,  though 
sisterly  regard  disposed  her  to  do  all  she  could  to  oblige 
her  brother.  Marie  Moulin,  however,  was  not  easily  per- 
suaded into  consenting  to  serve  a  mistress  who  was  in 
prison.  She  held  up  her  hands,  turned  up  her  eyes,  ut- 
tered fifty  exclamations,  and  declared,  over  and  over  again, 
"  c'est  impossible ;"  and  wondered  how  a  female  in  such  a 
situation  could  suppose  any  respectable  domestic  would 
serve  her,  as  it  would  be  very  sure  to  prevent  her  ever 

fetting  a  good  place  afterward.  This  last  objection  struck 
arah  as  quite  reasonable,  and  had  not  her  brother  been 
so  very  urgent  with  her,  would  of  itself  have  induced  her 
to  abandon  all  attempt  at  persuasion.  Marie,  however, 
finally  yielded  to  a  feeling  of  intense  curiosity,  when  no 
bribe  in  money  could  have  bought  her.  John  had  said  the 
prisoner  knew  her — had  known  her  in  Europe — and  she 
was  soon  dying  with  the  desire  to  know  who,  of  all  her 
many  acquaintances  in  the  old  world,  could  be  the  partic- 
ular individual  who  had  got  herself  into  this  formidable 
difficulty.  It  was  impossible  to  resist  this  feeling,  so  truly 
feminine,  which  was  a  good  deal  stimulated  by  a  secret 
wish  in  Sarah,  also,  to  learn  who  this  mysterious  person 
might  be  ;  ana  who  did  not  fail  to  urge  Marie,  with  all 
her  rhetoric,  to  consent  to  go  and,  at  least,  see  the  person 
who  had  so  strong  a  wish  to  engage  her  services.  The 
Swiss  had  not  so  much  difficulty  in  complying,  provided 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  101 

she  was  permitted  to  reserve  her  final  decision  until  she 
had  met  the  prisoner,  when  she  might  gratify  her  curiosity, 
and  return  to  town  prepared  to  enlighten  Miss  Wilmeter, 
and  all  her  other  friends,  on  a  subject  that  had  got  to  be 
intensely  interesting. 

It  was  not  late,  next  morning,  when  Marie  Moulin,  at- 
tended by  John  Wilmeter,  presented  herself  to  Mrs.  Gott, 
as  an  applicant  for  admission  to  the  gallery  of  Mary  Mon- 
son.  The  young  man  did  not  show  himself,  on  this  oc- 
casion ;  though  he  was  near  enough  to  hear  the  grating 
of  the  hinges  when  the  prison-door  opened. 

"  C'est  bien  vous  done,  Marie!"  said  the  prisoner,  in  a 
quick  but  pleased  salutation. 

''Mademoiselle!"  exclaimed  the  Swiss.  The  kisses  of 
women  succeeded.  The  door  closed,  and  John  Wilmeter 
learned  no  more,  on  that  occasion. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

And  can  you  by  no  drift  of  conference 

Get  from  him  why  he  puts  on  this  confusion — Hamlet. 

THERE  is  something  imaginative,  if  not  very  picturesque, 
in  the  manner  in  which  the  lawyers  of  Manhattan  occupy 
the  buildings  of  Nassau  Street,  a  thoroughfare  which  con- 
nects Wall  Street  with  the  Tombs.  There  they  throng, 
resembling  the  remains  of  so  many  monuments  along  the 
Appian  Way,  with  a  "  siste,  viator  "  of  their  own,  to  arrest 
the  footsteps  of  the  wayfarer.  We  must  now  transfer  the 
scene  to  a  building  in  this  street,  which  stands  about  half- 
way between  Maiden  Lane  and  John  Street,  having  its  front 
plastered  over  with  little  tin  signs,  like  a  debtor  marked 
by  writs,  or  what  are  now  called  "  complaints.*  Among 
these  signs,  which  afforded  some  such  pleasant  reading  as 
an  almanac,  was  one  that  bore  this  simple  and  reasonably 
intelligent  inscription  : 

u  Thomas  Dunscomb,  2d  floor,  in  front." 

It  is  somewhat  singular  that  terms  as  simple  as  those  of 
first  floor,  second  floor,  etc.,  should  not  signify  the  same 
things  in  the  language  of  the  mother  country  and  that  of 
this  land  of  progress  and  liberty.  Certain  it  is,  neverthe- 


102  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

less,  that  in  American  parlance,  more  especially  in  that  of 
Manhattan,  a  first  floor  is  never  up  one  pair  of  stairs,  as  in 
London,  unless  indeed  the  flight  is  that  by  which  the 
wearied  foot-passenger  climbs  the  high  stoop  to  gain  an 
entrance  into  the  building.  In  other  words,  an  English 
first  floor  corresponds  with  an  American  second  ;  and, 
taking  that  as  the  point  of  departure,  the  same  difference 
exists  throughout.  Tom  Dunscomb's  office  (or  offices 
would  be  the  better  term)  occupied  quite  half  of  the  second 
story  of  a  large  double  house,  that  had  once  been  the  habita- 
tion of  some  private  family  of  note,  but  which  had  long  been 
abandoned  to  the  occupation  of  these  ministers  of  the  law. 
Into  those  offices  it  has  now  become  our  duty  to  accom- 
pany one  who  seemed  a  little  strange  in  that  den  of  the 
profession,  at  the  very  moment  he  was  perfectly  at  home. 

"  Lawyer  Dunscomb  in  ? "  demanded  this  person,  who 
had  a  decided  rustic  mien,  though  his  dress  had  a  sort  of 
legal  dye  on  it,  speaking  to  one  of  the  five  or  six  clerks 
who  raised  their  heads  on  the  stranger's  entrance. 

"  In,  but  engaged  in  a  consultation,  I  believe,"  answered 
one  who,  being  paid  for  his  services,  was  the  working 
clerk  of  the  office  ;  most  of  the  others  being  students  who 
get  no  remuneration  for  their  time,  and  who  very  rarely 
deserve  it. 

"I'll  wait  till  he  is  through,"  returned  the  stranger, 
helping  himself  coolly  to  a  vacant  chair,  and  taking  his  seat 
in  the  midst  of  dangers  that  might  have  alarmed  one  less 
familiar  with  the  snares,  and  quirks,  and  quiddities  of  the 
law.  The  several  clerks,  after  taking  a  good  look  each  at 
their  guest,  cast  their  eyes  down  on  their  books  or  fools- 
cap, and  seemed  to  be  engrossed  with  their  respective  oc- 
cupations. Most  of  the  young  men,  members  of  respectable 
families  in  town,  set  the  stranger  down  for  a  rustic  client  ; 
but  the  working  clerk  saw  at  once,  by  a  certain  self-pos- 
sessed and  shrewd  manner,  that  the  stranger  was  a  country 
practitioner. 

In  the  course  of  the  next  half  hour,  Daniel  Lord  and 
George  Wood  came  out  of  the  sanctum,  attended  as  far  as 
the  door  by  Dunscomb  himself.  Exchanging  "  good  morn- 
ing" with  his  professional  friends,  the  last  caught  a 
glimpse  of  his  patient  visitor,  whom  he  immediately 
saluted  by  the  somewhat  brief  and  familiar  name  of 
Timms,  inviting  him  instantly,  and  with  earnestness,  to 
come  within  the  limits  of  the  privileged.  Mr.  Timms 
complied,  entering  the  sanctum  with  the  air  of  one  who 


THE  IV AYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  103 

had  been  there  before,  and  appearing  to  be  in  no  manner 
overcome  by  the  honor  he  enjoyed.  And  now,  as  a  faithful 
chronicler  of  events,  it  is  here  become  our  painful,  not  to 
say  revolting  duty,  to  record  an  act  on  the  part  of  the  man 
who  was  known  throughout  Dukes  County  as  Squire 
Timms,  which  it  will  never  do  to  overlook,  since  it  has 
got  to  be  perfectly  distinctive  and  characteristic  of  late 
years,  not  of  an  individual,  but  of  large  classes  who  throng 
the  bar,  the  desk,  the  stearn-boats,  the  taverns,  the  streets. 
A  thousand  paragraphs  have  been  written  on  the  subject 
of  American  spitting,  and  not  one  line,  as  we  can  remem- 
cer,  on  the  subject  of  an  equally  common  and  still  grosser 
offence  against  the  minor  morals  of  the  country,  if  de- 
cency in  manners  maybe  thus  termed.  Our  meaning  will 
be  explained  more  fully  in  the  narrative  of  the  stranger's 
immediate  movements  on  entering  the  sanctum. 

"Take  a  seat,  Mr.  Timms,"  said  Dunscomb,  motioning 
to  a  chair,  while  he  resumed  his  own  well-cushioned  seat, 
and  deliberately  proceeded  to  light  a  cigar,  not  without 
pressing  several  with  a  species  of  intelligent  tenderness, 
between  his  thumb  and  finger.  "  Take  a  seat  sir  ;  and 
take  a  cigar." 

Here  occurred  the  great  tour  de  force  in  manners  of 
Squire  Timms.  Considerately  turning  his  person  quarter- 
ing toward  his  host,  and  seizing  himself  by  the  nose,  much 
as  if  he  had  a  quarrel  with  that  member  of  his  face,  he 
blowed  a  blast  that  sounded  sonorously,  and  which  ful- 
filled all  that  it  promised.  Now  a  better-mannered  man 
than  Dunscomb  it  would  not  be  easy  to  find.  He  was  not 
particularly  distinguished  for  elegance  of  deportment,  but 
he  was  perfectly  well-bred.  Nevertheless,  he  did  not  flinch 
before  this  broad  hint  from  vulgarity,  but  stood  it  un- 
moved. To  own  the  truth,  so  large  has  been  the  inroad 
from  the  base  of  society,  within  the  last  five-and-twenty 
years,  on  the  habits  of  those  who  once  exclusively  dwelt 
together,  that  he  had  got  hardened  even  to  this  innovation. 
The  fact  is  not  to  be  concealed,  and,  as  we  intend  never  to 
touch  upon  the  subject  again,  we  shall  say  distinctly  that 
Mr.  Timms  blew  his  nose  with  his  fingers,  and  that,  in  so 
doing,  he  did  not  innovate  half  as  much,  to-day,  on  the 
usages  of  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand,  as  he  would  have 
done  had  he  blown  his  nose  with  his  thumb  only,  a  quar- 
ter of  a  century  since. 

Dunscomb  bore  this  infliction  philosophically  ;  and  well 
he  might,  for  there  was  no  remedy.  Waiting  for  Timms 


io4  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

to  use  his  handkerchief,  which  was  produced  somewhat 
tardily  for  such  an  operation,  he  quietly  opened  the  sul> 
ject  of  their  interview. 

"  So  the  grand  jury  has  actually  found  a  bill  for  murder 
and  arson,  my  nephew  writes  me,"  Dunscomb  observed, 
looking  inquiringly  at  his  companion,  as  if  really  anxious 
for  further  intelligence. 

"  Unanimously,  they  tell  me,  Mr.  Dunscomb,"  answered 
Timms.  <;  I  understand  that  only  one  man  hesitated,  and 
he  was  brought  round  before  they  came  into  court.  That 
piece  of  money  damns  our  case  in  old  Dukes." 

"  Money  saves  more  cases  than  it  damns,  Timms  ;  and 
no  one  knows  it  better  than  yourself." 

"Very  true,  sir.  Money  may  defy  even  the  new  Code. 
Give  me  five  hundred  dollars,  and  change  the  proceedings 
to  a  civil  action,  and  I'll  carry  anything  in  my  own  county 
that  you'll  put  on  the  calendar,  barring  some  twenty  or 
thirty  jurors  I  could  name.  There  are  about  thirty  men 
in  the  county  that  I  can  do  nothing  with — for  that  matter, 
whom  I  dare  not  approach." 

"  How  the  deuce  is  it,  Timms,  that  you  manage  your 
causes  with  so  much  success  ?  for  I  remember  you  have 
given  me  a  good  deal  of  trouble  in  suits  in  which  law  and 
fact  were  both  clearly  enough  on  my  side." 

"  I  suppose  those  must  have  been  causes  in  which  we 
1  horse-shedded '  and  '  pillowed  '  a  good  deal." 

"  Horse-shedded  and  pillowed  !  Those  are  legal  terms 
of  which  I  have  no  knowledge  ! " 

"  They  are  country  phrases,  sir,  and  country  customs 
too,  for  that  matter.  A  man  might  practise  a  long  life  in 
town,  and  know  nothing  about  them.  The  Halls  of  Jus- 
tice are  not  immaculate  ;  but  they  can  tell  us  nothing  of 
horse-shedding  and  pillowing.  They  do  business  in  a  way 
of  which  we  in  the  country  are  just  as  ignorant  as  you  are 
of  our  mode." 

"  Have  the  goodness,  Timms,  just  to  explain  the  mean- 
ing of  your  terms,  which  are  quite  new  to  me.  I  will  not 
swear  they  are  not  in  the  Co<^e  of  Practice,  but  they  are  in 
neither  Blackstone  nor  Kent." 

"  Horse-shedding,  Squire  Dunscomb,  explains  itself.  In 
the  country  most  of  the  jurors,  witnesses,  etc.,  have  more 
or  less  to  do  with  the  horse-sheds,  if  it's  only  to  see  that 
their  beasts  are  fed.  Well,  we  keep  proper  talkers  there, 
and  it  must  be  a  knotty  case,  indeed,  into  which  an  ingen- 
ious hand  cannot  thrust  a  doubt  or  an  argument.  To 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  105 

be  frank  with  you,  I've  known  three  pretty  difficult  suits 
summed  up  under  a  horse-shed  in  one  day  :  and  twice  as 
many  opened." 

"  But  how  is  this  done  ? — do  you  present  your  arguments 
directly,  as  in  court  ? " 

"Lord  bless  you,  no.  In  court,  unless  the  jury  happen 
to  be  unusually  excellent,  counsel  have  to  pay  some  little 
regard  to  the  testimony  and  the  law  ;  but,  in  horse-shed' 
ding,  one  has  no  need  of  either.  A  skilful  horse-shedder, 
for  instance,  will  talk  a  party  to  pieces,  and  not  say  a  word 
about  the  case.  That's  the  perfection  of  the  business.  It's 
against  the  law,  you  know,  Mr.  Dunscomb,  to  talk  of  a  case 
before  a  juror — an  indictable  offence — but  one  may  make  a 
case  of  a  party's  general  character,  of  his  means,  his  miser- 
ly qualities,  or  his  aristocracy  ;  and  it  will  be  hard  to  get 
hold  of  the  talker  for  any  of  them  qualities.  Aristocracy, 
of  late  years,  is  a  capital  argument,  and  will  suit  almost 
any  state  of  facts,  or  any  action  you  can  bring.  Only  per- 
suade the  jury  that  the  plaintiff  or  defendant  fancies  him- 
self better  than  they  are,  and  the  verdict  is  certain.  I  got 
a  thousand  dollars  in  the  Springer  case,  solely  on  that 
ground.  Aristocracy  did  it  !  It  is  going  to  do  us  a  great 
deal  of  harm  in  this  murder  and  arson  indictment." 

"  But  Mary  Monson  is  no  aristocrat — she  is  a  stranger, 
and  unknown.  What  privileges  does  she  enjoy,  to  render 
her  obnoxious  to  the  charge  of  aristocracy  ?  " 

"  More  than  will  do  her  any  good.  Her  aristocracy  does 
her  almost  as  much  harm  in  old  Dukes  as  the  piece  of  gold. 
I  always  consider  a  cause  as  half  lost  when  there  is  any 
aristocracy  in  it." 

"  Aristocracy  means  exclusive  political  privileges  in  the 
hands  of  a  few  ;  and  it  means  nothing  else.  Now  what 
exclusive  political  privileges  does  this  unfortunate  young- 
woman  enjoy  ?  She  is  accused  of  two  of  the  highest 
crimes  known  to  the  laws,  is  indicted,  imprisoned,  and  will 
be  tried." 

"Yes,  and  by  her  fleers,"  said  Timms,  taking  out  a  very 
respectable-looking  box,  and  helping  himself  liberally  to  a 
pinch  of  cut  tobacco.  "  It's  wonderful,  Squire  Dunscomb, 
how  much  breadth  the  peerage  possesses  in  this  country  !  I 
saw  a  trial,  a  year  or  two  since,  in  which  one  of  the  highest 
intellects  of  the  land  was  one  of  the  parties,  and  in  which 
a  juror  asked  the  judge  to  explain  the  meaning  of  the  word 
'bereaved.'  That  citizen  had  his  rights  referred  to  his 
peers,  with  a  vengeance  !" 


Io6  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

"Yes  ;  the  venerable  maxim  of  the  common  law  is,  oc- 
casionally, a  little  caricatured  among  us.  This  is  owing  to 
our  adhering  to  antiquated  opinions  after  the  facts  in  which 
they  had  their  origin  have  ceased  to  exist.  But,  by  your 
manner  of  treating  the  subject,  Timms,  I  infer  that  you 
give  up  the  aristocracy." 

"  Not  at  all.  Our  client  will  have  more  risks  to  run  on 
account  of  that,  than  on  account  of  any  other  weak  spot  in 
her  case.  I  think  we  might  get  along  with  the  piece  of 
gold,  as  a  life  is  in  question,  but  it  is  not  quite  so  easy  to 
see  how  we  are  to  get  along  with  the  aristocracy." 

"  And  this  in  the  face  of  her  imprisonment,  solitary  con- 
dition, friendless  state,  and  utter  dependence  on  strangers, 
for  her  future  fate  ?  I  see  no  one  feature  of  aristocracy 
to  reproach  her  with." 

"  But  I  see  a  great  many,  and  so  does  the  neighborhood. 
It  is  already  getting  to  be  the  talk  of  half  the  county.  In 
short,  all  are  talking  about  it,  but  they  who  know  better. 
You'll  see,  Squire  Dunscomb,  there  are  two  sorts  of  aris- 
tocracy in  the  eyes  of  most  people  ;  your  sort  and  my  sort. 
Your  sort  is  a  state  of  society  that  gives  privileges  and 
power  to  a  few,  and  keeps  it  there.  That  is  what  I  call 
old-fashioned  aristocracy,  about  which  nobody  cares  any- 
thing in  this  country.  We  have  no  aristocrats,  I  allow,  and 
consequently  they  don't  signify  a  straw." 

"Yet  they  are  the  only  true  aristocrats,  after  all.  But 
what,  or  who  are  yours  ?" 

"Well,  now,  squire, you  are  a  sort  of  aristocrat  yourself, 
in  a  certain  way.  I  don't  know  how  it  is — I'm  admitted 
to  the  bar  as  well  as  you — have  just  as  many  rights — 

"  More,  Timms,  if  leading  jurors  by  the  nose,  and  horse- 
shedding,  can  be  accounted  rights." 

"Well,  more  in  some  respects,  maybe.  Notwithstand- 
ing all  this,  there  is  a  difference  between  us — a  difference 
in  our  ways,  in  our  language,  in  our  ideas,  our  manner  of 
thinking  and  acting,  that  sets  you  up  above  me  in  a  way  I 
should  not  like  in  any  other  man.  As  you  did  so  much 
for  me  when  a  boy,  sir,  and  carried  me  through  to  the  bar 
on  your  shoulders,  as  it  might  be,  I  shall  always  look  up 
to  you  ;  though  I  must  say  that  I  do  not  always  like  even 
your  superiority." 

"  I  should  be  sorry,  Timms,  if  I  ever  so  far  forget  my  own 

freat  defects,  as  to  parade  unfeelingly  any  little  advantages 
may  happen  to  possess  over  you,  or  over  any  other  man, 
in  consequence  of  the  accidents  of  birth  and  education." 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  107 

"You  do  not  parade  them  unfeelingly,  sir;  you  do  not 
parade  them  at  all.  Still,  they  will  show  themselves  ;  and 
they  are  just  the  things  I  do  not  like  to  look  .at.  Now, 
what  is  true  of  me,  is  true  of  all  my  neighbors.  We  call 
anything  aristocracy  that  is  a  touch  above  us,  let  it  be 
what  it  may.  I  sometimes  think  Squire  Dunscomb  is  a 
sort  of  an  aristocrat  in  the  law  !  Now,  as  for  our  client,  she 
has  a  hundred  ways  with  her  that  are  not  the  ways  of  Dukes, 
unless  you  go  among  the  tip-toppers." 

"  The  Upper  Ten— 

"  Pshaw  !  I  know  better  than  that  myself,  squire.  Their 
Upper  Ten  should  be  upper  one,  or  two,  to  be  common 
sense.  Rude  and  untaught  as  I  was  until  you  took  me  by 
the  hand,  sir,  I  can  tell  the  difference  between  those  who 
wear  kids,  and  ride  in  their  coaches,  and  those  who  are  fit 
for  either.  Our  client  has  none  of  this,  sir  ;  and  that  it  is 
which  surprises  me.  She  has  no  Union  Place,  or  Fifth 
Avenue,  about  her,  but  is  the  true  coin.  There  is  one 
thing  in  particular  that  I'm  afraid  may  do  her  harm." 

"  It  is  the  true  coin  which  usually  passes  with  the  least 
trouble  from  hand  to  hand.  But  what  is  this  particular 
source  of  uneasiness  ?  " 

"Why,  the  client  has  a  lady  friend " 

A  little  exclamation  from  Dunscomb  caused  the  speaker 
to  pause,  while  the  counsellor  removed  the  cigar  from  his 
mouth,  knocked^  off  its  ashes,  and  appeared  to  ponder 
for  a  moment,  touching  the  best  manner  of  treating  a 
somewhat  delicate  subject.  At  length,  native  frankness 
overcame  all  scruples,  and  he  spoke  plainly,  or  as  the 
familiar  instructor  might  be  expected  to  address  a  very 
green  pupil. 

"  If  you  love  me,  Timms,  never  repeat  that  diabolical 
phrase  again,"  said  Dunscomb,  looking  quite  serious,  how- 
ever much  there  might  have  been  of  affectation  in  his  as- 
pect. "It  is  even  worse  than  Hurlgate,  which  I  have  told 
you  fifty  times  I  cannot  endure.  '  Lady  friend '  is  infernally 
vulgar,  and  I  will  not  stand  it.  You  may  blow  your  nose 
with  your  fingers,  if  it  give  you  especial  satisfaction,  and  you 
may  blow  out  against  aristocracy  as  much  as  you  please  ; 
but  you  shall  not  talk  to  me  about  '  lady  friends  '  or  '  Hurl- 
gate.'  I  am  no  dandy,  but  a  respectable  elderly  gentleman, 
who  professes  to  speak  English,  and  who  wishes  to  be 
addressed  in  his  own  language.  Heaven  knows  what  the 
country  is  coming  to  !  There  is  Webster,  to  begin  with, 
cramming  a  Yankee  dialect  down  our  throats  for  good 


ro8  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

English  ;  then  comes  all  the  cant  of  the  day,  flourishing 
finical  phrases,  and  new  significations  to  good  old  homely 
words,  and  changing  the  very  nature  of  mankind  by  means 
of  terms.  Last  of  all,  is  this  infernal  Code,  in  which  the 
ideas  are  as  bad  as  possible,  and  the  terms  still  worse.  But 
whom  do  you  mean  by  your  '  lady  friend '  ?  " 

"The  French  lady  that  has  been  with  our  client,  now, 
for  a  fortnight.  Depend  on  it,  she  will  do  us  no  good 
when  we  are  on.  She  is  too  aristocratic  altogether." 

Dunscomb  laughed  outright.  Then  he  passed  a  hand 
across  his  brow,  and  seemed  to  muse. 

"All  this  is  very  serious,"  he  at  length  replied,  "and  is 
really  no  laughing  matter.  A  pretty  pass  are  we  coming 
to,  if  the  administration  of  the  law  is  to  be  influenced  by 
such  things  as  these  !  The  doctrine  is  openly  held  that  the 
rich  shall  not,  ought  not  to,  embellish  their  amusements  at 
a  cost  that  the  poor  cannot  compass  ;  and  here  we  have 
a  member  of  the  bar  telling  us  a  prisoner  shall  not  have 
justice  because  she  has  a  foreign  maid-servant ! " 

"A  servant !  Call  her  any  tiling  but  that,  squire,  if  you 
wish  for  success  !  A  prisoner  accused  of  capital  crimes, 
with  a  servant,  would  be  certain  to  be  condemned.  Even 
the  court  would  hardly  stand  that." 

"  Timms,  you  are  a  shrewd,  sagacious  fellow,  and  are  apt 
to  laugh  in  your  sleeve  at  follies  of  this  nature,  as  I  well 
know  from  long  acquaintance  ;  and  here  you  insist  on 
one  of  the  greatest  of  all  absurdities." 

"  Things  are  changed  in  Ameriky,  Mr.  Dunscomb.  The 
people  are  beginning  to  govern  ;  and  when  they  can't  do 
it  legally  they  do  it  without  law.  Don't  you  see  what  the 
papers  say  about  having  operas  and  play-houses  at  the 
people's  prices,  and  the  right  to  hiss  ?  There's  Constitu- 
tion for  you  !  I  wonder  what  Kent  and  Blackstone  would 
say  to  that  ?  " 

"  Sure  enough.  They  would  find  some  novel  features  in  a 
liberty  which  says  a  man  shall  not  set  the  price  on  the  seats 
in  his  own  theatre,  and  that  the  hissing  may  be  done  by  an 
audience  in  the  streets.  The  facts  are,  Timms,  that  all  these 
abuses  about  O.  P.'s,  and  controlling  other  persons'  con- 
cerns under  the  pretence  that  the  public  has  rights  where, 
as  a  public,  it  has  no  rights  at  all,  come  from  the  reaction 
of  a  half-way  liberty  ifi  other  countries.  Here,  where  the 
people  are  really  free,  having  all  the  power,  and  where  no 
political  right  is  hereditary,  the  people  ought,  at  least,  to 
respect  their  own  ordinances." 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  109 

"  Do  you  not  consider  a  theatre  a  public  place,  Squire 
Dunscomb  ? " 

"  In  one  sense  it  is,  certainly  ;  but  not  in  the  sense  that 
bears  on  this  pretended  power  over  it.  The  very  circum- 
stance that  the  audience  pay  for  their  seats,  makes  it,  in 
law  as  in  fact,  a  matter  of  covenant.  As  for  this  new- 
fangled absurdity  about  its  being  a  duty  to  furnish  low- 
priced  seats  for  the  poor,  where  they  may  sit  and  look  at 
pretty  women  because  they  cannot  see  them  elsewhere,  it 
is  scarcely  worth  an  argument.  If  the  rich  should  demand 
that  the  wives  and  daughters  of  the  poor  should  be  paraded 
in  the  pits  and  galleries,  for  their  patrician  eyes  to  feast  on, 
a  pretty  clamor  there  would  be  !  If  the  State  requires 
cheap  theatres,  and- cheap  women,  let  the  State  pay  for 
them,  as  it  does  for  its  other  wants  ;  but,  if  these  amuse- 
ments are  to  be  the  object  of  private  speculations,  let  pri- 
vate wisdom  control  them.  I  have  no  respect  for  one-sided 
liberty,  let  it  cant  as  much  as  it  may." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  sir  ;  I  have  read  some  of  these  arti- 
cles, and  they  seem  to  me " 

"  What — convincing  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  not  just  that,  squire  ;  but  very  agreeable.  I'm 
not  rich  enough  to  pay  for  a  high  place  at  an  opera  cr  a 
theatre  ;  and  it  is  pleasant  to  fancy  that  a  poor  feller  can 
get  one  of  the  best  seats  at  half-price.  Now  in  England, 
they  tell  me,  the  public  won't  stand  prices  they  don't  like." 

"  Individuals  of  the  public  may  refuse  to  purchase,  and 
there  their  rights  cease.  An  opera,  in  particular,  is  a  very  ex- 
pensive amusement  ;  and  in  all  countries  where  the  rates 
of  admission  are  low,  the  governments  contribute  to  the 
expenditures.  This  is  done  from  policy,  to  keep  the  peo- 
ple quiet,  and  possibly  to  help  civilize  them  ;  but  if  we  are 
not  far  beyond  the  necessity  of  any  such  expedients,  our 
institutions  are  nothing  but  a  sublime  mystification." 

"  It  is  wonderful,  squire,  how  many  persons  see  the  loose 
side  of  democracy,  who  have  no  notion  of  the  tight!  But, 
all  this  time,  our  client  is  in  jail  at  Biberrv,  and  must  be 
tried  next  week.  Has  nothing  been  done,  squire,  to  choke 
off  the  newspapers,  who  have  something  to  say  about  her 
almost  every  day  ?  It's  quite  time  the  other  side  should 
be  heard." 

"  It  is  very  extraordinary  that  the  persons  who  control 
these  papers  should  be  so  indifferent  to  the  rights  of  others 
as  to  allow  such  paragraphs  to  find  a  place  in  their  col- 
umns." 


HO  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

"  Indifferent !  What  do  they  care,  so  long  as  the  jour- 
nal sells  ?  In  our  case,  however,  I  rather  suspect  that  a 
certain  reporter  has  taken  offence  ;  and  when  men  of  that 
class  get  offended,  look  out  for  news  of  the  color  of  their 
anger.  Isn't  it  wonderful,  Squire  Dunscomb,  that  the  peo- 
ple don't  see  and  feel  that  they  are  sustaining  low  tyrants, 
in  two-thirds  of  their  silly  clamor  about  the  liberty  of  the 
press  ? " 

"  Many  do  see  it ;  and  I  think  this  engine  has  lost  a  great 
deal  of  its  influence  within  the  last  few  years.  As  respects 
proceedings  in  the  courts,  there  never  will  be  any  true  lib- 
erty in  the  country,  until  the  newspapers  are  bound  hand 
and  foot." 

"You  are  right  enough  in  one  thing,  squire,  and  that  is 
in  the  ground  the  press  has  lost.  It  has  pretty  much  used 
itself  up  in  Dukes  ;  and  I  would  pillow  and  horse-shed  a 
cause  through  against  it,  the  best  day  it  ever  saw  !" 

By  the  way,  Timms,  you  have  not  explained  the  pillow- 
ing process  to  me." 

"  I  should  think  the  word  itself  would  do  that,  sir.  You 
know  how  it  is  in  the  country.  Half  a  dozen  beds  are  put 
in  the  same  room,  and  two  in  a  bed.  Waal,  imagine  three 
or  four  jurors  in  one  of  these  rooms,  and  two  chaps  along 
with  'em,  with  instructions  how  to  talk.  The  conversation 
is  the  most  innocent  and  nat'ral  in  the  world  ;  not  a  word 
too  much  or  too  little  ;  but  it  sticks  like  a  burr.  The  juror 
is  a  plain,  simple-minded  countryman,  and  swallows  all  that 
his  room-mates  say,  and  goes  into  the  box  next  day  in  a 
beautiful  frame  of  mind  to  listen  to  reason  and  evidence  ! 
No,  no  ;  give  me  two  or  three  of  these  pillow-counsellors, 
and  I'll  undo  all  that  the  journals  can  do,  in  a  single  con- 
versation. You'll  remember,  squire,  that  we  get  the  last 
word  by  this  system  ;  and  if  the  first  blow  is  half  the  battle 
in  war,  the  last  word  is  another  half  in  the  law.  Oh  !  it's 
a  beautiful  business,  is  this  trial  by  jury  ! " 

"  All  this  is  very  wrong,  Timms.  For  a  longtime  I  have 
known  that  you  have  exercised  an  extraordinary  influence 
over  the  jurors  of  Dukes  ;  but  this  is  the  first  occasion  on 
which  you  have  been  frank  enough  to  reveal  the  process." 

"  Because  this  is  the  first  occasion  on  which  we  have  ever 
had  a  capital  case  together.  In  the  present  state  of  pub- 
lic opinion,  in  Dukes,  I  much  question  whether  we  can  get 
a  jury  impanelled  in  this  trial  at  all." 

"  The  Supreme  Court  will  then  send  us  to  town,  by  waj 
of  mending  the  matter.  Apropos,  Timms " 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  in 

"  One  word,  if  you  please,  squire  ;  what  does  d  propos 
really  mean  ?  I  hear  it  almost  every  day,  but  never  yet 
knew  the  meaning." 

"  It  has  shades  of  difference  in  its  signification — as  I  just 
used  it,  it  means  '  speaking  of  that*  ' 

"  And  is  it  right  to  say  a  propos  to  such  a  thing  ? " 

"  It  is  better  to  say  a  propos  of,  as  the  French  do.  In  old 
-English,  it  was  always  to;  but  in  our  later  mode  of  speak- 
ing, we  say  'of.'  ' 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  You  know  how  I  glean  my  knowledge 
in  driblets  ;  and  out  in  the  country  not  always  from  the 
highest  authorities.  Plain  and  uncouth  as  I  know  I  appear 
to  you,  and  to  Miss  Sarah,  I  have  an  ambition  to  be  a  gen- 
tleman. Now  I  have  observation  enough  to  see  that  it  is 
these  little  matters,  after  all,  and  not  riches  and  fine  clothes, 
that  make  gentlemen  and  ladies." 

"I  am  glad  you  have  so  much  discrimination,  Timms  ; 
but,  you  must  permit  me  to  remark,  that  you  will  never 
make  a  gentleman  until  you  learn  to  let  your  nose  alone." 

"Thank  you,  sir— I  am  thankful  for  even  the  smallest 
hints  on  manners.  It's  a  pity  that  so  handsome  and  so 
agreeable  a  young  lady  should  be  hanged,  Mr.  Dunscomb ! " 

"  Timms,  you  are  as  shrewd  a  fellow  in  your  own  way, 
as  I  know.  Your  law  does  not  amount  to  any  great  mat- 
ter, nor  do  you  take  hold  of  the  strong  points  of  a  case 
very  often  ;  but  you  perform  wonders  with  the  weaker.  In 
the  way  of  an  opinion  on  facts,  I  know  few  men  more  to 
be  relied  on.  Tell  me,  then,  frankly,  what  do  you  think 
of  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  Mary  Monson  ? " 

Timms  screwed  up  his  mouth,  passed  a  hand  over  his 
brow,  and  did  not  answer  for  near  a  minute. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  right,  after  all,  that  we  should  understand 
each  other  on  this  subject,"  he  then  said.  "  We  are  asso- 
ciated as  counsel,  and  I  feel  it  a  great  honor  to  be  so  as- 
sociated, Squire  Dunscomb,-!  give  you  my  word  ;  and  it  is 
proper  that  we  should  be  as  free  with  each  other  as  broth- 
ers. In  the  first  place,  then,  I  never  saw  such  a  client  be- 
fore, as  this  same  lady — for  lady  I  suppose  we  must  call 
her  until  she  is  convicted — 

"  Convicted  !  You  cannot  think  there  is  much  danger 
of  that,  Timms  ?" 

"  We  never  know,  sir  ;  we  never  know.  I  have  lost  cases 
of  which  I  was  sure,  and  gained  them  of  which  I  had  no 
hopes — cases  which  I  certainly  ought  not  to  have  gained 
— ag'in  all  law  and  the  facts." 


112  THE    WAYS    OF    THE   HOUR. 

11  Ay,  that  came  of  the  horse-shed,  and  the  sleeping  of 
two  in  a  bed." 

"  Perhaps  it  did,  squire,"  returned  Timms,  laughing  very 
freely,  though  without  making  any  noise  ;  "  perhaps  it  did. 
When  the  small-pox  is  about,  there  is  no  telling  who  may 
take  it.  As  for  this  case,  Squire  Dunscomb,  it  is  my  opinion 
we  shall  have  to  run  for  disagreements.  If  we  can  get  the 
juries  to  disagree  once  or  twice,  and  can  get  a  change  of 
venue,  with  a  couple  of  charges,  the  deuce  is  in  it  if  a  man 
of  your  experience  don't  corner  them  so  tightly,  they'll 
give  the  matter  up,  rather  than  have  any  more  trouble 
about  it.  After  all,  the  State  can't  gain  much  by  hanging 
a  young  woman  that  nobody  knows,  even  if  she  be  a  little 
aristocratical.  We  must  get  her  to  change  her  dress  alto- 
gether, and  some  of  her  ways  too  ;  which,  in  her  circum- 
stances, I  call  downright  hanging  ways  ;  and  the  sooner 
she  is  rid  of  them,  the  better." 

"  I  see  that  you  do  not  think  us  very  strong  on  the  mer- 
its, Timms,  which  is  as  much  as  admitting  the  guilt  of  our 
client.  I  was  a  good  deal  inclined  to  suspect  the  worst 
myself ;  but  two  or  three  more  interviews,  and  what  my 
nephew  Jack  Wilmeter  tells  me,  have  produced  a  change. 
I  am  now  strongly  inclined  to  believe  her  innocent.  She 
has  some  great  and  secret  cause  of  apprehension,  I  will 
allow  ;  but  I  do  not  think  these  unfortunate  Goodwins 
have  anything  to  do  with  it." 

"Waal,  one  never  knows.  The  verdict,  if  'not  guilty,' 
will  be  just  as  good  as  if  she  was  as  innocent  as  a  child 
a  year  old.  I  see  how  the  work  is  to  be  done.  All  the 
law,  and  the  summing  up,  will  fall  to  your  share  ;  while 
the  out-door  work  will  be  mine.  We  may  carry  her 
through — though  I'm  of  opinion  that,  if  we  do,  it  will 
be  more  by  means  of  bottom  than  by  means  of  foot. 
There  is  one  thing  that  is  very  essential,  sir — the  money 
must  hold  out." 

"  Do  you  want  a  refresher  so  soon,  Timms  ?  Jack  tells 
me  that  she  has  given  you  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
already!" 

"  I  acknowledge  it,  sir ;  and  a  very  respectable  fee  it  is 
— you  ought  to  have  a  thousand,  squire." 

"  I  have  not  received  a  cent,  nor  do  I  mean  to  touch  any 
of  her  money.  My  feelings  are  in  the  case,  and  I  am  will- 
ing to  work  for  nothing." 

Timms  gave  his  old  master  a  quick  but  scrutinizing 
glance.  Dunscomb  was  youthful,  in  all  respects,  for  his 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  113 

time  of  life  ;  and  many  a  man  has  loved,  and  married,  and 
become  the  parent  of  a  flourishing  family,  who  had  seen 
all  the  days  he  had  seen.  That  glance  was  to  inquire  if  it 
were  possible  that  the  uncle  and  nephew  were  likely  to  be 
rivals,  and  to  obtain  as  much  knowledge  as  could  be  readily 
gleaned  in  a  quick,  jealous  lopk.  But  the  counsellor  was 
calm  as  usual,  and  no  tinge  of  color,  no  sigh,  no  gentle- 
ness of  expression,  betrayed  the  existence  of  the  master 
passion.  It  was  reported  among  the  bachelor's  intimates 
that  formerly,  when  he  was  about  five-and-twenty,  he  had 
had  an  affair  of  the  heart,  which  had  taken  such  deep  hold 
that  even  the  lady's  marriage  with  another  man  had  not 
destroyed  its  impression.  That  marriage  was  said  not  to 
have  been  happy,  and  was  succeeded  by  a  second,  that  was 
still  less  so  ;  though  the  parties  were  affluent,  educated, 
and  possessed  all  the  means  that  are  commonly  supposed 
to  produce  felicity.  A  single  child  was  the  issue  of  the 
first  marriage,  and  its  birth  had  shortly  preceded  the  sep- 
aration that  followed.  Three  years  later  the  father  died, 
leaving  the  whole  of  a  very  ample  fortune  to  this  child, 
coupled  with  the  strange  request  that  Dunscomb,  once  the 
betrothed  of  her  mother,  should  be  the  trustee  and  guar- 
dian of  the  daughter.  This  extraordinary  demand  had  not 
been  complied  with,  and  Dunscomb  had  not  seen  any  of 
the  parties  from  the  time  he  broke  with  his  mistress.  The 
heiress  married  young,  died  within  the  year,  and  left  an- 
other heiress  ;  but  no  further  allusion  to  our  counsellor 
was  made  in  any  of  the  later  wills  and  settlements.  Once, 
indeed,  he  had  been  professionally  consulted  concerning 
the  devises  in  favor  of  the  granddaughter — a  certain  Mil- 
dred Millington — who  wras  a  second  cousin  to  Michael  of 
that  name,  and  as  rich  as  he  was  poor.  For  some  years, 
a  sort  of  vague  expectation  prevailed  that  these  two 
young  Millingtons  might  marry  ;  but  a  feud  existed  in 
the  family,  and  little  or  no  intercourse  was  permitted. 
The  early  removal  of  the  young  lady  to  a  distant  school 
prevented  such  a  result ;  and  Michael,  in  due  time,  fell 
within  the  influence  of  Sarah  Wilmeter's  gentleness,  beauty, 
and  affection. 

Timms  came  to  the  conclusion  that  his  old  master  was 
not  in  love. 

"  It  is  very  convenient  to  be  rich,  squire,"  this   singular 

being  remarked  ;  "and  I  dare  say  it  may  be  very  pleasant 

to  practise  for  nothing,  when  a  man  has  his  pocket  full  of 

money.     I  am  poor,  and  have  particular  satisfaction  in  a 

8 


II4  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

good  warm  fee.  By  the  way,  sir,  my  part  of  the  business 
requires  plenty  of  money.  I  do  not  think  I  can  even  com- 
mence operations  with  less  than  five  hundred  dollars." 

Dunscomb  leaned  back,  stretched  forth  an  arm,  drew 
his  check-book  from  its  niche,  and  filled  a  check  for  the 
sum  jus^t  mentioned.  This  he  quietly  handed  to  Timms, 
without  asking  for  any  receipt ;  for,  while  he  knew  that 
his  old  student  and  fellow-practitioner  was  no  more  to  be 
trusted  in  matters  of  practice  than  was  an  eel  in  the  hand, 
he  knew  that  he  was  scrupulously  honest  in  matters  of  ac- 
count. There  was  not  a  man  in  the  State  to  whom  Duns- 
comb  would  sooner  confide  the  care  of  uncounted  gold, 
or  the  administration  of  an  estate,  or  the  payment  of  a 
legacy,  than  this  very  individual,  who,  he  also  well  knew, 
would  not  scruple  to  set  all  the  provisions  of  the  law  at 
naught,  in  order  to  obtain  a  verdict,  when  his  feelings 
were  really  in  the  case. 

"There,  Timms,"  said  the  senior  counsel,  glancing  at  his 
draft  before  he  handed  it  to  the  other,  in  order  to  see  that 
it  was  correct ;  "  there  is  what  you  ask  for.  Five  hundred 
for  expenses,  and  half  as  much  as  a  fee." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  I  hope  this  is  not  gratuitous,  as  well 
as  the  services  ?" 

"  It  is  not.  There  is  no  want  of  funds,  and  I  am  put  in 
possession  of  sufficient  money  to  carry  us  through  with 
credit  ;  but  it  is  as  a  trustee,  and  not  as  a  fee.  This,  in- 
deed, is  the  most  extraordinary  part  of  the  whole  affair  ; 
to  find  a  delicate,  educated,  accomplished  lady,  with  her 
pockets  well  lined,  in  such  a  situation  !  " 

"  Why,  squire,"  said  Timms,  passing  his  hand  down  his 
chin,  and  trying  to  look  simple  and  disinterested,  "  I  am 
afraid  clients  like  ours  are  often  flush.  I  have  been  em- 
ployed about  the  Tombs  a  good  deal  in  my  time,  and 
I  have  gin'rally  found  that  the  richest  clients  were  the 
biggest  rogues." 

Dunscomb  gave  his  companion  a  long  and  contemplative 
look.  He  saw  that  Timms  did  not  entertain  quite  as  favor- 
able an  opinion  of  Mary  Monson  as  he  did  himself,  or 
rather  that  he  was  fast  getting  to  entertain  ;  for  his  own 
distrust  originally  was  scarcely  less  than  that  of  this  hack- 
neyed dealer  with  human  vices.  A  long,  close  and  strin- 
gent examination  of  all  of  Tirnms's  facts  succeeded — facts 
that  had  been  gleaned  by  collecting  statements  on  the 
spot.  Then  a  consultation  followed,  from  which  it  might 
be  a  little  premature,  just  now,  to  raise  the  veil. 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  115 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Her  speech  is  nothing, 

Yet  the  unshaped  use  of  it  doth  move 

The  hearers  to  collection.     They  aim  at  it, 

And  botch  the  words  up  fit  to  their  own  thoughts. — Hamlet. 

THE  reader  is  not  to  be  surprised  at  the  intimacy  which 
existed  between  Thomas  Dunscomb  and  the  half-educated 
semi-rude  being  who  was  associated  with  him  as  counsel 
in  the  important  cause  that  was  now  soon  to  be  tried. 
Such  intimacies  are  by  no  means  uncommon  in  the  course 
of  events  ;  men  often  overlooking  great  dissimilarities  in 
principles,  as  well  as  in  personal  qualities,  in  managing 
their  associations,  so  far  as  they  are  connected  with  the 
affairs  of  this  world.  The  circumstance  that  Timms  had 
studied  in  our  counsellor's  office  would,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  produce  certain  relations  between  them  in  after- 
life ;  but  the  student  had  made  himself  useful  to  his  former 
master  on  a  great  variety  of  occasions,  and  was  frequently 
employed  by  him  whenever  there  was  a  cause  depending 
in  the  courts  of  Dukes,  the  county  in  which  the  unpolished, 
half-educated,  but  hard-working  and  successful  county 
practitioner  had  established  himself.  It  may  be  questioned 
if  Dunscomb  really  knew  all  the  agencies  set  in  motion  by 
his  coadjutor  in  difficult  cases  ;  but,  whether  he  did  or  not, 
it  is  quite  certain  that  many  of  them  were  of  a  character 
not  to  see  the  light.  It  is  very  much  the  fashion  of  oijr 
good  republic  to  turn  up  its  nose  at  all  other  lands,  a  habit 
no  doubt  inherited  from  our  great  ancestors  the  English  ; 
and  one  of  its  standing  themes  of  reproach  are  the  legal 
corruptions  and  abuses  known  to  exist  in  France,  Spain, 
Italy,  etc.  ;  all  over  the  world,  in  short,  except  among  our- 
selves. So  far  as  the  judges  are  concerned,  there  is  a  sur- 
prising adherence  to  duty,  when  bribes  alone  are  con- 
cerned, no  class  of  men  on  earth  being  probably  less 
obnoxious  to  just  imputations  of  this  character  than  the  in- 
numerable corps  of  judicial  officers  ;  underpaid,  poor,  hard- 
worked,  and  we  might  almost  add  unhonored,  as  they  are. 
That  cases  in  which  bribes  are  taken  do  occur,  we  make  no 
doubt ;  it  would  be  assuming  too  much  in  favor  of  human 
nature  to  infer  the  contrary  ;  but,  under  the  system  of 
publicity  that  prevails,  it  would  not  be  easy  for  this  crime 


116  THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

to  extend  very  far  without  its  being  exposed.  It  is  greatly 
to  the  credit  of  the  vast  judicial  corps  of  the  States,  that 
bribery  is  an  offence  which  does  not  appear  to  be  even 
suspected  at  all ;  or,  if  there  be  exceptions  to  the  rule, 
they  exist  in  but  few  and  isolated  cases.  Here,  however, 
our  eulogies  on  American  justice  must  cease.  All  that 
Timms  has  intimated  and  Dunscomb  has  asserted  concern- 
ing the  juries  is  true  ;  and  the  evil  is  one  that  each  day 
increases.  The  tendency  of  everything  belonging  to  the 
government  is  to  throw  powrer  directly  into  the  hands  of 
the  people,  who,  in  nearly  all  cases,  use  it  as  men  might 
be  supposed  to  do  who  are  perfectly  irresponsible,  have 
only  a  remote,  and  half  the  time  an  invisible  interest  in  its 
exercise  ;  who  do  not  feel  or  understand  the  consequences 
of  their  owrn  deeds,  and  have  a  pleasure  in  asserting  a 
seeming  independence,  and  of  appearing  to  think  and  act 
for  themselves.  Under  such  a  regime  it  is  self-apparent 
that  principles  and  law  must  suffer  ;  and  so  the  result 
proves  daily,  if  not  hourly.  The  institution  of  the  jury, 
one  of  very  questionable  utility  in  its  best  aspects  in  a 
country  of  really  popular  institutions,  becomes  nearly  in- 
tolerable, unless  the  courts  exercise  a  strong  and  salutary 
influence  on  the  discharge  of  its  duties.  This  influence, 
unhappily,  has  been  gradually  lessening  among  us  for  the 
last  half  century,  until  it  has  reached  a  point  where  noth- 
ing is  more  common  than  to  find  the  judge  charging  the 
law  one  way,  and  the  jury  determining  it  another.  In  most 
cases,  it  is  true,  there  is  a  remedy  for  this  abuse  of  power, 
but  it  is  costly,  and  ever  attended  with  that  delay  in  hope 
"which  maketh  the  heart  sick."  Any  one,  of  even  the 
dullest  apprehension,  must,  on  a  little  reflection,  perceive 
that  a  condition  of  things  in  which  the  ends  of  justice  are 
defeated,  or  so  procrastinated  as  to  produce  the  results  of 
defeat,  is  one  of  the  least  desirable  of  all  those  in  which 
men  can  be  placed  under  the  social  compact  ;  to  say  noth- 
ing of  its  corrupting  and  demoralizing  effects  on  the  public 
mind. 

All  this  Dunscomb  saw,  more  vividly,  perhaps,  than  most 
others  of  the  profession,  for  men  gradually  get  to  be  so 
accustomed  to  abuses  as  not  only  to  tolerate  them,  but  to 
come  to  consider  them  as  evils  inseparable  from  human 
frailty.  It  was  certain,  however,  that  while  our  worthy 
counsellor  so  far  submitted  to  the  force  of  things  as  fre 
quently  to  close  his  eyes  to  Timms's  manoeuvres,  a  weakness 
uf  which  nearly  every  one  is  guilty  who  has  much  to  do 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HO  UK.  II 7 

with  the  management  of  men  and  things,  he  was  never 
known  to  do  aught  himself  that  was  unworthy  of  his  high 
standing  and  well-merited  reputation  at  the  bar.  There 
is  nothing  unusual  in  this  convenient  compromise  be- 
tween direct  and  indirect  relations  with  that  which  is 
wrong. 

It  had  early  been  found  necessary  to  employ  local  coun- 
sel in  Mary  Monson's  case,  and  Timms  was  recommended 
by  his  old  master  as  one  every  way  suited  to  the  particular 
offices  needed.  Most  of  the  duties  to  be  performed  were 
strictly  legal  ;  though  it  is  not  to  be  concealed  that  some 
soon  presented  themselves  that  would  not  bear  the  light. 
John  Wilmeter  communicated  to  Timms  the  particular 
state  of  the  testimony,  as  he  and  Michael  Millington  had 
been  enabled  to  get  at  it  ;  and  among  other  things  he  stated 
his  conviction  that  the  occupants  of  the  farm  nearest  to  the 
late  dwelling  of  the  Goodwins  were  likely  to  prove  some 
of  the  most  dangerous  of  the  witnesses  against  their  client. 
This  family  consisted  of  a  sister-in-law,  the  Mrs.  Burton 
already  mentioned,  three  unmarried  sisters,  and  a  brother, 
who  was  the  husband  of  the  person  first  named.  On  this 
hint  Timms  immediately  put  himself  in  communication 
with  these  neighbors,  concealing  from  them,  as  well  as 
from  all  others  but  good  Mrs.  Gott,  that  he  was  retained 
in  the  case  at  all. 

Timms  was  soon  struck  with  the  hints  and  half-revealed 
statements  of  the  persons  of  this  household  ;  more  espe- 
cially with  those  of  the  female  portion  of  it.  The  man  ap- 
peared to  him  to  have  observed  less  than  his  wife  and 
sisters  ;  but  even  he  had  much  to  relate,  though,  as  Timms 
fancied,  more  that  he  had  gleaned  from  those  around  him, 
than  from  his  own  observations.  The  sisters,  however,  had 
a  good  deal  to  say  ;  while  the  wife,  though  silent  and 
guarded,  seemed  to  this  observer,  as  well  as  to  young  Mill- 
ington, to  know  the  most.  When  pressed  to  tell  all,  Mrs. 
Burton  looked  melancholy  and  reluctant,  frequently  re- 
turning to  the  subject  of  her  own  accord  when  it  had  been 
casually  dropped,  but  never  speaking  explicitly,  though 
often  invited  so  to  do.  It  was  not  the  cue  of  the  counsel 
for  the  defence  to  drag  out  unfavorable  evidence  ;  and 
Timms  employed  certain  confidential  agents,  whom  he 
often  used  in  the  management  of  his  causes,  to  sift  this 
testimony  as  well  as  it  could  be  done  without  the  constrain- 
ing power  of  the  law.  The  result  was  not  very  satisfactory, 
in  any  sense,  more  appearing  to  be  suppressed  than  was 


iiS  THE   WAYS   OF  THE   HOUR. 

related.  It  was  feared  that  the  legal  officers  of  the  State 
would  meet  with  better  success. 

The  investigations  of  the  junior  counsel  did  not  end 
here.  He  saw  that  the  public  sentiment  was  setting  in  a 
current  so  strongly  against  Mary  Monson,  that  he  soon  de- 
termined to  counteract  it,  as  well  as  might  be,  by  produc- 
ing a  reaction.  This  is  a  very  common,  not  to  say  a  very 
powerful  agent,  in  the  management  of  all  interests  that  are 
subject  to  popular  opinion,  in  a  democracy.  Even  the  ap- 
plicant for  public  favor  is  none  the  worse  for  beginning  his 
advances  by  "a  little  aversion,"  provided  he  can  contrive 
to  make  the  premeditated  change  in  his  favor  take  the 
aspect  of  a  reaction.  It  may  not  be  so  easy  to  account  for 
this  caprice  of  the  common  mind,  as  it  is  certain  that  it 
exists.  Perhaps  we  like  to  yield  to  a  seeming  generosity, 
have  a  pleasure  in  appearing  to  pardon,  find  a  consolation 
for  our  own  secret  consciousness  of  errors,  in  thus  extend- 
ing favor  to  the  errors  of  others,  and  have  more  satisfac- 
tion in  preferring  those  who  are  fallible,  than  in  exalting 
the  truly  upright  and  immaculate  ;  if,  indeed,  any  such 
there  be.  Let  the  cause  be  what  it  may,  we  think  the 
facts  to  be  beyond  dispute  ;  and  so  thought  Timms  also, 
for  he  no  sooner  .resolved  to  counteract  one  public  opinion 
by  means  of  another,  than  he  set  about  the  task  with  cool- 
ness and  intelligence — in  short,  with  a  mixture  of  all  the 
good  and  bad  qualities  of  the  man. 

The  first  of  his  measures  was  to  counteract,  as  much  as 
he  could,  the  effects  of  certain  paragraphs  that  had  ap- 
peared in  some  of  the  New  York  journals.  A  man  of 
Timms's  native  shrewdness  had  no  difficulty  in  compre- 
hending the  more  vulgar  moral  machinery  of  a  daily  press. 
Notwithstanding  its  "  we's,"  and  its  pretension  to  repre- 
sent public  opinion,  and  to  protect  the  common  interests, 
he  thoroughly  understood  Tt  was  merely  one  mode  of  ad- 
vancing the  particular  views,  sustaining  the  personal 
schemes,  and  not  unfrequently  of  gratifying  the  low  ma- 
lignity of  a  single  individual ;  the  press  in  America  differ- 
ing from  that  of  nearly  all  other  countries  in  the  fact  that 
it  is  not  controlled  by  associations,  and  does  not  reflect  the 
decisions  of  many  minds,  or  contend  for  principles  that,  by 
their  very  character,  have  a  tendency  to  elevate  the 
thoughts.  There  are  some  immaterial  exceptions  as  relates 
to  the  latter  characteristic,  perhaps,  principally  growing 
out  of  the  great  extra-constitutional  question  of  slavery, 
that  has  quite  unnecessarily  been  drawn  into  the  discus- 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  i*9 

sions  of  the  times  through  the  excited  warmth  of  zealots  ; 
but,  as  a  rule,  the  exciting  political  questions  that  else- 
where compose  the  great  theme  of  the  newspapers,  enlarg- 
ing their  views,  and  elevating  their  articles,  may  be  regard- 
ed as  settled  among  ourselves.  In  the  particular  case  with 
which  Timms  was  now  required  to  deal,  there  was  neither 
favor  nor  malice  to  counteract.  The  injustice,  and  a  most 
cruel  injustice  it  was,  was  merely  in  catering  to  a  morbid 
desire  for  the  marvellous  in  the  vulgar,  which  might  thus 
be  turned  to  profit. 

Among  the  reporters  there  exists  the  same  diversity  of 
qualities  as  among  other  men,  beyond  a  question  ;  but  the 
tendency  of  the  use  of  all  power  is  to  abuse  ;  and  Timms 
was  perfectly  aware  that  these  men  had  far  more  pride  in 
the  influence  they  wielded,  than  conscience  in  its  exercise. 
A  ten-  or  a  twenty-dollar  note,  judiciously  applied,  would 
do  a  great  deal  with  this  "Palladium  of  our  Liberties," 
there  being  at  least  a  dozen  of  these  important  safeguards 
interested  in  the  coming  trial — our  associate  counsel  very 
well  knew ;  and  Dunscomb  suspected  that  some  such  ap- 
plication of  the  great  persuader  had  been  made,  in  conse- 
quence of  one  or  two  judicious  and  well-turned  paragraphs 
that  appeared  soon  after  the  consultation.  But  Timms's 
management  of  the  press  was  mainly  directed  to  that  of 
the  county  newspapers.  There  were  three  of  these  ;  and 
as  they  had  better  characters  than  most  of  the  Manhat- 
tanese  journals,  so  were  they  more  confided  in.  It  is  true, 
that  the  Whig  readers  never  heeded  in  the  least  anything 
that  was  said  in  The  Dukes  County  Democrat ;  but  the 
friends  of  the  last  took  their  revenge  in  discrediting  all 
that  appeared  in  the  columns  of  the  Biberry  Whig.  In 
this  respect,  the  two  great  parties  of  the  country  were  on  a 
par  ;  each  manifesting  a  faith,  that,  in  a  better  cause,  might 
suffice  to  move  mountains  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  an  un- 
belief that  drove  them  into  the  dangerous  folly  of  disre- 
garding their  foes.  As  Mary  Monson  had  nothing  to  do 
with  politics,  it  was  not  difficult  to  get  suitable  paragraphs 
inserted  in  the  hostile  columns,  which  was  also  done  within 
eight-and-forty  hours  after  the  return  of  the  junior  coun- 
sel to  his  own  abode. 

Timms,  however,  was  far  from  trusting  to  the  newspapers 
alone.  He  felt  that  it  might  be  well  enough  to  set  "  fire 
to  fight  fire  ;"  but  his  main  reliance  was  on  the  services 
that  could  be  rendered  by  a  timely  and  judicious  use  of 
"the  little  member."  Talkers  was  what  he  wanted  ;  and 


120  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

well  did  he  know  where  to  find  them,  and  how  to  get  them 
at  work.  A  few  he  paid  in  a  direct,  business-like  way ; 
taking  no  vouchers  for  the  sums  bestowed,  the  reader  may 
be  assured,  but  entering  each  item  carefully  in  a  little 
memorandum-book  kept  for  his  own  private  information. 
These  strictly  confidential  agents  went  to  work  with  ex- 
perienced discretion  but  great  industry,  and  soon  had  some 
ten  or  fifteen  fluent  female  friends  actively  engaged  in 
circulating  "  They  says,"  in  their  respective  neighborhoods. 

Timms  had  reflected  a  great  deal  on  the  character  of  the 
defence  it  might  be  most  prudent  to  get  up  and  enlarge 
on.  Insanity  had  been  worn  out  by  too  much  use  of  late ; 
and  he  scarce  gave  that  plea  a  second  thought.  This  par- 
ticular means  of  defence  had  been  discussed  between  him 
and  Dunscomb,  it  is  true  ;  but  each  of  the  counsel  felt  a 
strong  repugnance  against  resorting  to  it  ;  the  one  on  ac- 
count of  his  indisposition  to  rely  on  anything  but  the 
truth  ;  the  other,  to  use  his  own  mode  of  expressing 
himself  on  the  occasion  in  question,  because  he  "believed 
that  jurors  could  no  longer  be  humbugged  with  that  plea. 
There  have  been  all  sorts  of  madmen  and  mad-women ' 

"  Gentlemen  and  lady  murderers  " — put  in  Dunscomb, 
dryly. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  squire  ;  but,  since  you  give  me  the 
use  of  my  nose,  I  will  offend  as  little  as  possible  with  the 
tongue — though,  I  rather  conclude  " — a  form  of  expression 
much  in  favor  with  Timms — "that  should  our  verdict  be 
'  guilty,'  you  will  be  disposed  to  allow  there  may  be  one 
lady  criminal  in  the  world." 

"She  is  a  most  extraordinary  creature,  Timrns  ;  bothers 
me  more  than  any  client  I  ever  had  !  " 

"  Indeed  !  Waal,  I  had  set  her  down  as  just  the  con- 
trary— for  to  me  she  seems  to  be  as  unconcerned  as  if  the 
wise  four-and-twenty  had  not  presented  her  to  justice  in 
the  name  of  the  people." 

"  It  is  not  in  that  sense  that  I  am  bothered — no  client 
ever  gave  counsel  less  trouble  than  Mary  Monson  in  that 
respect.  To  me,  Timms,  she  does  not  appear  to  have  any 
concern  in  reference  to  the  result." 

"Supreme  innocence,  or  a  well-practised  experience.  I 
have  defended  many  a  person  whom  I  knew  to  be  guilty, 
and  two  or  three  whom  I  believed  to  be  innocent ;  but 
never  before  had  as  cool  a  client  as  this  !  " 

And  very  true  was  this.  Even  the  announcement  of  the 
presentment  by  the  grand  jury  appeared  to  give  Mary 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR,  121 

Monson  no  great  alarm.  Perhaps  she  anticipated  it  from 
the  first,  and  had  prepared  herself  for  the  event,  by  an  ex- 
ercise of  a  firmness  little  common  to  her  sex  until  the 
moments  of  extreme  trial,  when  their  courage  would  seem 
to  rise  with  the  occasion.  On  her  companion,  whom 
Timms  had  so  elegantly  styled  her  *  Lady  Friend,'  certainly 
as  thoroughly  vulgar  an  expression  as  was  ever  drawn  into 
the  service  of  the  heroics  in  gentility,  warm-hearted  and 
faithful  Marie  Moulin,  the  intelligence  produced  far  more 
effect.  It  will  be  remembered  that  Wilmeter  overheard 
the  single  cry  of  "Mademoiselle"  when  this  Swiss  was 
first  admitted  to  the  jail  ;  after  which  an  impenetrable  veil 
closed  around  their  proceedings.  The  utmost  good  feel- 
ing and  confidence  were  apparent  in  the  intercourse  be- 
tween the  young  mistress  and  her  maid  ;  if,  indeed,  Marie 
might  thus  be  termed,  after  the  manner  in  which  she  was 
treated.  So  far  from  being  kept  at  the  distance  which  it  is 
usual  to  observe  toward  an  attendant,  the  Swiss  was  admit- 
ted to  MaryMonson's  table  ;  and  to  the  eyes  of  indifferent 
observers  she  might  very  well  pass  for  what  Timms  had  so 
elegantly  called  a  "  lady  friend."  But  Jack  Wilmeter  knew 
too  much  of  the  world  to  be  so  easily  misled.  It  is  true, 
that  when  he  paid  his  short  visits  to  the  jail,  Marie  Moulin 
sat  sewing  at  the  prisoner's  side,  and  occasionally  she  even 
hummed  low,  national  airs  while  he  was  present  ;  but 
knowing  the  original  condition  of  the  maid-servant,  our 
young  man  was  not  to  be  persuaded  that  his  uncle's  client 
was  her  peer,  any  more  than  were  the  jurors  who,  agree- 
ably to  that  profound  mystification  of  the  common  law,  are 
thus  considered  and  termed.  Had  not  Jack  Wilmeter 
known  the  real  position  of  Marie  Moulin,  her  "  mademoi- 
selle "  would  have  let  him  deeper  into  the  secrets  of  the 
two  than  it  is  probable  either  ever  imagined.  This  word, 
in  common  with  those  of  "monsieur"  and  "madame,"  are 
used,  by  French  servants,  differently  from  what  they  are 
used  in  general  society.  Unaccompanied  by  the  names, 
the  domestics  of  France  commonly  and  exclusively  apply 
them  to  the  heads  of  families,  or  those  they  more  imme- 
diately serve.  Thus,  it  was  far  more  probable  that  Marie 
Moulin,  meeting  a  mere  general  acquaintance  in  the  pris- 
oner, would  have  called  her  "  Mademoiselle  Marie,"  or 
"Mademoiselle  Monson,"  or  whatever  might  be  the  name 
by  which  she  had  known  the  young  lady,  than  by  the  gen- 
eral and  still  more  respectful  appellation  of  "  mademoi- 
selle." On  this  peculiarity  of  deportment  Jack  Wilmeter 


122  THE  IV AYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

speculated  profoundly  ;  for  a  young  man  who  is  just  be- 
ginning to  submit  to  the  passion  of  love  is  very  apt  to 
fancy  a  thousand  things  that  he  would  never  dream  of  see- 
ing in  his  cooler  moments.  Still,  John  had  fancied  him- 
self bound  in  the  spells  of  another,  until  this  extraordinary 
client  of  his  uncle's  so  unexpectedly  crossed  his  path. 
Such  is  the  human  heart. 

Good  and  kind-hearted  Mrs.  Gott  allowed  the  prisoner 
most  of  the  privileges  that  at  all  comported  with  her  duty. 
Increased  precautions  were  taken  for  the  security  of  the 
accused,  as  soon  as  the  presentment  of  the  grand  jury  was 
made,  by  a  direct  order  from  the  court  ;  but,  these  attend- 
ed to,  it  was  in  the  power  of  her  whom  Timms  might  have 
called  the  "  lady  sheriff,  "to  grant  a  great  many  indulgences, 
which  were  quite  cheerfully  accorded,  and,  to  all  appear- 
ances, as  gratefully  accepted. 

John  Wilmeter  was  permitted  to  pay  two  regular  visits 
at  the  grate  each  day,  and  as  many  more  as  his  ingenuity 
could  invent  plausible  excuses  for  making.  On  all  ac- 
casions  Mrs.  Gott  opened  the  outer  door  with  the  greatest 
good  will ;  and,  like  a  true  woman  as  she  is,  she  had  the 
tact  to  keep  as  far  aloof  from  the  barred  window  where 
the  parties  met,  as  the  dimensions  of  the  outer  room  would 
allow.  Marie  Moulin  was  equally  considerate,  generally 
plying  her  needle  at  such  times,  in  the  depth  of  the  cell, 
with  twice  the  industry  manifested  on  other  occasions. 
Nevertheless,  nothing  passed  between  the  young  people 
that  called  for  this  delicate  reserve.  The  conversation,  it 
is  true,  turned  as  little  as  possible  on  the  strange  and  awk- 
ward predicament  of  one  of  the  colloquists,  or  the  employ- 
ment that  kept  the  young  man  at  Biberry.  Nor  did  it 
turn  at  all  on  love.  There  is  a  premonitory  state  in  these 
attacks  of  the  heart,  during  which  skilful  observers  may 
discover  the  symptoms  of  approaching  disease,  but  which 
do  not  yet  betray  the  actual  existence  of  the  epidemic.  On 
the  part  of  Jack  himself,  it  is  true  that  these  symptoms 
were  getting  to  be  not  only  somewhat  apparent,  but  they 
were  evidently  fast  becoming  more  and  more  distinct ; 
while,  on  the  part  of  the  lady,  any  one  disposed  to  be  crit- 
ical might  have  seen  that  her  color  deepened,  and  there 
were  signs  of  daily  increasing  interest  in  them,  as  the 
hours  for  these  interviews  approached.  She  was  interest- 
ed in  her  young  legal  adviser ;  and  interest,  with  women; 
is  the  usual  precursor  of  the  master-passion.  Woe  betide 
the  man  who  cannot  interest,  but  who  only  amuses  ! 


THE    WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  123 

Although  so  little  to  the  point  was  said  in  the  short  dia- 
logues between  Wilmeter  and  Mary  Monson,  there  were 
dialogues  held  with  the  good  Mrs.  Gott,  by  each  of  the 
parties  respectively,  in  which  less  reserve  was  observed  ; 
and  the  heart  was  permitted  to  have  more  influence  over 
the  movements  of  the  tongue.  The  first  of  these  conver- 
sations that  we  deem  it  necessary  to  relate,  that  took  place 
after  the  presentment,  was  one  that  immediately  succeeded 
an  interview  at  the  barred  window,  and  which  occurred 
three  days  subsequently  to  the  consultation  in  town  ;  and 
two  after  Timms's  machinery  was  actively  at  work  in  the 
county. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  find  her  spirits  to-day,  Mr.  Wilming- 
ton ? "  asked  Mrs.  Gott,  kindly,  and  catching  the  conven- 
tional sound  of  the  young  man's  name,  from  having  heard 
it  so  often  in  the  mouth  of  Michael  Millington.  "  It  is  an 
awful  state  for  any  human  being  to  be  in,  and  she  a  young, 
delicate  woman  ;  to  be  tried  for  murder,  and  for  setting 
fire  to  a  house,  and  all  so  soon  ! " 

"  The  most  extraordinary  part  of  this  very  extraordinary 
business,  Mrs.  Gott,"  Jack  replied,  "  is  the  perfect  indif- 
ference of  Miss  Monson  to  her  fearful  jeopardy  !  To  me, 
she  seems  much  more  anxious  to  be  closely  immured  in 
jail,  than  to  escape  from  a  trial  that  one  would  think,  of 
itself,  might  prove  more  than  so  delicate  a  young  lady 
could  bear  up  against." 

"Very  true,  Mr.  Wilmington  ;  and  she  never  seems  to 
think  of  it  at  all !  You  see  what  she  has  done,  sir  ? " 

"Done  !     Nothing  in  particular,  I  hope  ?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  call  particular;  but  to  me  it 
does  seem  to  be  remarkably  particular.  Didn't  you  hear 
a  piano,  and  another  musical  instrument,  as  you  ap- 
proached the  jail  ? " 

"  I  did,  certainly,  and  wondered  who  could  produce 
such  admirable  music  in  Biberry." 

"  Biberry  has  a  great  many  musical  ladies,  I  can  tell  you, 
Mr.  Wilmington,"  returned  Mrs.  Gott,  a  little  coldly, 
though  her  good-nature  instantly  returned,  and  shone  out 
in  one  of  her  most  friendly  smiles  ;  "  and  those,  too,  that 
have  been  to  town  and  heard  all  the  great  performers  from 
Europe,  of  whom  there  have  been  so  many  of  late  years. 
I  have  heard  good  judges  say  that  Dukes  County  is  not 
much  behind  the  island  of  Manhattan,  with  the  piano  in 
particular." 

"  I  remember  when  at  Rome  to  have  heard  an  English' 


124  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

man  say  that  some  young  ladies  from  Lincolnshire  were 
astonishing  the  Romans  with  their  Italian  accent,  in  sing- 
ing Italian  operas,"  answered  Jack,  smiling.  "There  is 
no  end,  my  dear  Mrs.  G®tt,  to  provincial  perfection  in  all 
parts  of  the  world." 

"  I  believe  I  understand  you,  but  I  am  not  at  all  offended 
at  your  meaning.  We  are  not  very  sensitive  about  the 
jails.  One  thing  I  will  admit,  however  ;  Mary  Monson's 
harp  is  the  first,  I  rather  think,  that  was  ever  heard  in  Bi- 
berry.  Gott  tells  me  " — this  was  the  familiar  manner  in 
which  the  good  woman  spoke  of  the  high  sheriff  of  Dukes, 
as  the  journals  affectedly  call  that  functionary — "  that  he 
once  met  some  German  girls  strolling  about  the  country, 
playing  and  singing  for  money,  and  who  had  just  such  an 
instrument,  but  not  one-half  as  elegant ;  and  it  has  brought 
to  my  mind  a  suspicion  that  Mary  Monson  may  be  one  of 
these  travelling  musicians." 

"  What  ?  to  stroll  about  the  country,  and  play  and  sing 
in  the  streets  of  villages !  " 

11  No,  not  that  ;  I  see  well  enough  she  cannot  be  of  that 
sort.  But  there  are  all  descriptions  of  musicians,  as  well 
as  all  descriptions  of  doctors  and  lawyers,  Mr.  Wilmington. 
Why  may  not  Mary  Monson  be  one  of  these  foreigners 
who  get  so  rich  by  singing  and  playing?  She  has  just  as 
much  money  as  she  wants,  and  spends  it  freely  too.  This 
I  know,  from  seeing  the  manner  in  which  she  uses  it.  For 
my  part,  I  wish  she  had  less  music  and  less  money  just 
now  ;  for  they  are  doing  her  no  great  good  in  Biberry  ! " 

"Why  not  ?  Can  any  human  being  find  fault  with  mel- 
ody and  a  liberal  spirit  ?  " 

"  Folks  will  find  fault  with  anything,  Mr.  Wilmington, 
when  they  have  nothing  better  to  do.  You  know  how  it 
is  with  our  villagers  here,  as  well  as  I  do.  Most  people 
think  Mary  Monson  guilty,  and  a  few  do  not.  Those  that 
think  her  guilty  say  it  is  insolent  in  her  to  be  singing  and 
playing  in  the  very  jail  in  which  she  is  confined  ;  and  talk 
loud  against  her  for  that  very  reason." 

"Would  they  deprive  her  of  a  consolation  as  innocent 
as  that  she  obtains  from  her  harp  and  her  piano,  in  addi- 
tion to  her  other  sufferings  ?  Your  Biberry  folks  must  be 
particularly  hard-hearted,  Mrs.  Gott." 

"  Biberry  people  are  like  York  people,  and  American 
people,  and  English  people,  and  all  other  people,  I  fancy, 
if  the  truth  was  known,  Mr.  Wilmington.  What  they  don't 
like  they  disapprove  of,  that's  all.  Now,  was  I  one  of 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  125 

them  that  believe  Mary  Monson  did  actually  murder  the 
Goodwins,  and  plunder  their  drawers,  and  set  fire  to  their 
house,  it  would  go  ag'in  my  feelings  too,  to  hear  her  music, 
well  as  she  plays,  and  sweet  as  she  draws  out  the  sounds 
from  those  wires.  Some  of  our  folks  take  the  introduction 
of  the  harp  into  the  jail  particularly  hard  !" 

"  Why  that  instrument  more  than  another  ?  It  was  the 
one  on  which  David  played." 

"  They  say  it  was  David's  favorite,  and  ought  only  to  be 
struck  to  religious  words  and  sounds." 

"  It  is  a  little  surprising  that  your  excessively  conscien- 
tious people  so  often  forget  that  charity  is  the  chiefest  of 
all  the  Christian  graces." 

"They  think  that  the  love  of  God  comes  first,  and  that 
they  ought  never  to  lose  sight  of  his  honor  and  glory.  But 
I  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Wilmington"  ;  '  feel  for  your  fellow- 
creatures  '  is  my  rule  ;  and  I'm  certain  I  am  then  feeling 
for  my  Maker.  Yes  ;  many  of  the  neighbors  insist  that  a 
harp  is  unsuited  to  a  jail,  and  they  tell  me  that  the  instru- 
ment on  which  Mary  Monson  plays  is  a  real  antique." 

"  Antique  !     What,  a  harp  made  in  remote  ages  ? " 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  that  exactly,"  returned  Mrs.  Gott, 
coloring  a  little;  "but  a  harp  made  so  much  like  those 
used  by  the  Psalmist,  that  one  could  not  tell  them 
apart." 

"  I  dare  say  David  had  many  varieties  of  stringed  instru- 
ments, from  the  lute  up ;  but  harps  are  very  common,  Mrs. 
Gott — so  common  that  we  hear  them  now  in  the  streets, 
and  on  board  the  steam-boats  even.  There  is  nothing  new 
in  them,  even  in  this  country." 

"  Yes,  sir,  in  the  streets  and  on  board  the  boats  ;  but  the 
public  will  tolerate  things  done  for  them,  that  they  won't 
tolerate  in  individuals.  I  suppose  you  know  that,  Mr.  Wil- 
mington ? " 

"  We  soon  learn  as  much  in  this  country — but  the  jails 
are  made  for  the  public,  and  the  harps  ought  to  be  privi- 
leged in  them,  as  well  as  in  other  public  places." 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is — I'm  not  very  good  at  reasoning 
— but,  somehow  or  another,  the  neighbors  don't  like  that 
Mary  Monson  should  play  on  the  harp  or  even  on  the 
piano,  situated  as  she  is.  I  do  wish,  Mr.  Wilmington,  you 
could  give  her  a  hint  on  the  subject." 

"Shall  I  tell  her  that  the  music  is  unpleasant  \.Q you?" 

"As  far  from  that  as  possible  !  I  delight  in  it  ;  but  the 
neighbors  do  not.  Then  she  never  shows  herself  at  the 


126  THE   WAYS    OF   THE  HOUR. 

grate  to  folks  outside,  like  all  the  other  prisoners.  The 
public  wants  to  see  and  converse  with  her." 

"You  surely  could  not  expect  a  young  and  educated 
female  to  be  making  a  spectacle  of  herself,  for  the  gratifi- 
cation of  the  eyes  of  all  the  vulgar  and  curious  in  and  about 
Biberry?" 

"  Hush — Mr.  Wilmington,  you  are  most  too  young  to  take 
care  of  such  a  cause.  Squire  Timms,  now,  is  a  man  who 
understands  Dukes  County,  and  he  would  tell  you  it  is  not 
wise  to  talk  of  the  vulgar  hereabouts  ;  at  least,  not  until 
the  verdict  is  in.  Besides,  most  people  would  think  that 
folks  have  a  right  to  look  at  a  prisoner  in  the  common  jail. 
I  know  they  act  as  if  they  thought  so." 

"  It  is  hard  enough  to  be  accused  and  confined,  without 
subjecting  the  party  to  any  additional  degradation.  No 
man  has  a  right  to  ask  to  look  at  Miss  Monson  but  those 
she  sees  fit  to  receive,  and  the  officials  of  the  law.  It  would 
be  an  outrage  to  tolerate  mere  idle  curiosity." 

"Well,  if  you  think  so,  Mr.  Wilmington,  do  not  let  every- 
body know  it.  Several  of  the  clergy  have  either  been  here, 
or  have  sent  to  offer  their  visits,  if  acceptable." 

"And  what  has  been  the  answer?"  demanded  Jack,  a 
little  eagerly. 

"  Mary  Monson  has  received  all  these  offers  as  if  she  had 
been  a  queen — politely,  but  coldly  ;  once  or  twice,  or  when 
the  Methodist  and  the  Baptist  came,  and  they  commonly 
come  first,  I  thought  she  seemed  hurt.  Her  color  went 
and  came  like  lightning.  Now,  she  was  pale  as  death — 
next,  as  bright  as  a  rose — what  a  color  she  has  at  times, 
Mr.  Wilmington  !  Dukes  is  rather  celebrated  for  rosy 
faces  ;  but  it  would  be  hard  to  find  her  equal  when  she 'is 
not  thinking." 

"  Of  what,  my  good  Mrs.  Gott  ? " 

"Why,  most  of  the  neighbors  say,  of  the  Goodwins. 
For  my  part,  as  I  do  not  believe  she  ever  hurt  a  hair  of  the 
head  of  the  old  man  and  old  woman,  I  can  imagine  that 
she  has  disagreeable  things  to  think  of  that  are  in  nowise 
connected  with  them." 

"She  certainly  has  disagreeable  things  to  make  her 
cheeks  pale  that  are  connected  with  that  unfortunate 
couple.  But,  I  ought  to  know  all.  To  what  else  do  the 
neighbors  object  ? " 

"  To  the  foreign  tongues — they  think  when  a  grand  jury 
has  found  a  bill,  the  accused  ought  to  talk  nothing  but  plain 
English,  so  that  all  near  her  can  understand  what  she  says." 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  127 

"  In  a  word,  it  is  not  thought  sufficient  to  be  accused  of 
such  a  crime  as  murder,  but  all  other  visitations  must  fol- 
low, to  render  the  charge  as  horrible  as  may  be  ! " 

"  That  is  not  the  way  they  look  at  it.  The  public  fancies 
that  in  a  public  matter  they  might  have  a  right  to  know 
all  about  a  thing." 

"  And  when  there  is  a  failure  in  the  proof,  they  imagine, 
invent,  and  assert." 

"  'Tis  the  ways  of  the  land.  I  suppose  all  nations  have 
their  ways,  and  follow  them." 

"  One  thing  surprises  me  a  little  in  this  matter,"  Jack 
rejoined,  after  musing  a  moment  ;  "  it  is  this.  In  most 
cases  in  which  women  have  any  connection  with  the  law, 
the  leaning  in  this  country,  and  more  particularly  of  late, 
has  been  in  their  favor." 

"Well,"  Mrs.  Gott  quietly  but  quickly  interrupted,  "and 
ought  it  not  to  be  so  ? " 

"  It  ought  not,  unless  the  merits  are  with  them.  Justice 
is  intended  to  do  that  which  is  equitable  ;  and  it  is  not  fair 
to  assume  that  women  are  always  right,  and  men  always 
wrong.  I  know  my  uncle  thinks  that  not  only  the  decis- 
ions of  late  years,  but  the  laws,  have  lost  sight  of  the 
wisdom  of  the  past,  and  are  gradually  placing  the  women 
above  the  men,  making  her  instead  of  him  the  head  of  the 
family." 

"Well,  Mr.  Wilmington,  and  isn't  that  quite  right?"  de- 
manded Mrs.  Gott,  with  a  good-natured  nod. 

"  My  uncle  thinks  it  very  wrong,  and  that  by  a  mistaken 
gallantry  the  peace  of  families  is  undermined,  and  their 
discipline  destroyed  ;  as,  in  punishment,  by  a  false  phil- 
anthropy, rogues  are  petted  at  the  expense  of  honest 
folks.  Such  are  the  opinions  of  Mr.  Thomas  Dunscomb, 
at  least." 

"  Ay,  Mr.  Thomas  Dunscomb  is  an  old  bachelor  ;  and 
bachelors'  wives,  and  bachelors'  children,  as  we  well  know, 
are  always  admirably  managed.  It  is  a  pity  they  are  not 
more  numerous,"  retorted  the  indomitably  good-humored 
wife  of  the  sheriff,  **  But,  you  see  that,  in  this  case  of 
Mary  Monson,  the  feeling  is  against,  rather  than  in  favor 
of  a  woman.  That  may  be  owing  to  the  fact  that  one  of 
the  persons  murdered  was  a  lady  also." 

"  Doctor  McBrain  says  that  both  were  females — or  lady- 
murdered — as  I  suppose  we  must  call  them  ;  as  doubtless 
you  have  heard,  Mrs.  Gott.  Perhaps  he  is  believed,  and 
the  fact  may  make  doubly  against  the  accused." 


128  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.     . 

"  He  is  not  believed.  Everybody  hereabouts  knows  that 
one  of  the  skeletons  was  that  of  Peter  Goodwin.  They  say 
that  the  district  attorney  means  to  show  that,  beyond  all 
dispute.  They  tell  me  that  it  is  a  law,  in  a  case  of  this 
sort,  first  to  show  there  has  been  a  murder  ;  second,  to 
show  who  did  it." 

"This  is  something  like  the  course  of  proceeding,  I  be- 
lieve ;  though  I  never  sat  on  a  trial  for  this  offence.  It  is 
of  no  great  moment  what  the  district  attorney  does,  so 
that  he  do  not  prove  that  Miss  Monson  is  guilty  ;  and  this, 
my  kind-hearted  Mrs.  Gott,  you  and  I  do  not  believe  he 
can  do." 

"In  that  we  are  agreed,  sir.  I  no  more  think  that 
Mary  Monson  did  these  things,  than  I  think  I  did  them 
myself." 

Jack  expressed  his  thanks  in  a  most  grateful  look,  and 
there  the  interview  terminated. 


CHAPTER  X. 

In  peace,  Love  tunes  the  shepherd's  reed  ; 

In  war  he  mounts  the  warrior's  steed  ; 

In  halls,  in  gay  attire  is  seen  ; 

In  hamlets,  dances  on  the  green. 

Love  rules  the  court,  the  camp,  the  grove, 

And  men  below,  and  saints  above  ; 

For  love  is  heaven,  and  heaven  is  love. — SCOTT. 

"  IT  is  the  ways  of  the  land,"  said  good  Mrs.  Gott,  in  one 
of  her  remarks  in  the  conversation  just  related.  Other 
usages  prevail,  in  connection  with  other  interests  ;  and  the 
time  is  come  when  we  must  refer  to  one  of  them.  In  a 
word,  Dr.  McBrain  and  Mrs.  Updyke  were  about  to  be 
united  in  the  bands  of  matrimony.  As  yet  we  have  said 
very  little  of  the  intended  bride  ;  but  the  incidents  of  our 
tale  render  it  now  necessary  to  bring  her  more  prominent- 
ly on  the  stage,  and  to  give  some  account  of  herself  and 
family. 

Anna  Wade  was  the  only  child  of  very  respectable  and 
somewhat  affluent  parents.  At  nineteen  she  married  a 
lawyer  of  suitable  years,  and  became  Mrs.  Updyke.  This 
union  lasted  but  eight  years,  when  the  wife  was  left  a 
widow  with  two  children  ;  a  son  and  a  daughter.  In  the 
course  of  time  these  children  grew  up,  the  mother  devot- 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  129 

ing  herself  to  their  care,  education  and  well-being.  In  all 
this  there  was  nothing  remarkable,  widowed  mothers  doing 
as  much  daily,  with  a  self-devotion  that  allies  them  to  the 
angels.  Frank  Updyke,  the  son,  had  finished  his  educa- 
tion, and  was  daily  expected  to  arrive  from  a  tour  of  three 
years  in  Europe.  Anna,  her  mother's  namesake,  was  at 
the  sweet  age  of  nineteen,  and  the  very  counterpart  of 
what  the  elder  Anna  had  been  at  the  same  period  in  life. 
The  intended  bride  was  far  from  being  unattractive,  though 
fully  five-and-forty.  In  the  eyes  of  Dr.  McBrain,  she  was 
even  charming  ;  although  she  did  not  exactly  answer  those 
celebrated  conditions  of  female  influence  that  have  been 
handed  down  to  us  in  the  familiar  toast  of  a  voluptuous 
English  prince.  Though  forty,  Mrs.  Updyke  was  neither 
"  fat "  nor  "  fair  ; "  being  a  brunette  of  a  well-preserved 
and  still  agreeable  person. 

It  was  perhaps  a  little  singular,  after  having  escaped  the 
temptations  of  a  widowhood  of  twenty  years,  that  this  lady 
should  think  of  marrying  at  a  time  of  life  when  most  fe- 
males abandon  the  expectation  of  changing  their  condition. 
But  Mrs.  Updyke  was  a  person  of  a  very  warm  heart ;  and 
she  foresaw  the  day  when  she  was  to  be  left  alone  in  the 
world.  Her  son  was  much  inclined  to  be  a  rover  and,  in 
his  letters,  he  talked  of  still  longer  journeys,  and  of  more 
protracted  absences  from  home.  He  inherited  an  indepen- 
dency from  his  father,  and  had  now  been  his  own  master 
for  several  years.  Anna  was  much  courted  by  the  circle 
to  which  she  belonged  ;  and  young,  affluent,  pretty  to  the 
very  verge  of  beauty,  gentle,  quiet,  and  singularly  warm- 
hearted, it  was  scarcely  within  the  bounds  of  possibility 
that  she  could  escape  an  early  marriage  in  a  state  of  so- 
ciety like  that  of  Manhattan.  These  were  the  reasons 
Mrs.  Updyke  gave  to  her  female  confidantes,  when  she 
deemed  it  well  to  explain  the  motives  of  her  present  pur- 
pose. Without  intending  to  deceive,  there  was  not  a  word 
of  truth  in  these  explanations.  In  point  of  fact,  Mrs.  Up- 
dyke, well  as  she  had  loved  the  husband  of  her  youth, 
preserved  les  beaux  restes  of  a  very  warm  and  affectionate 
heart;  and  McBrain,  a  well-preserved,  good-looking  man, 
about  a  dozen  years  older  than  herself,  had  found  the 
means  to  awaken  its  sympathies  to  such  a  degree,  as  once 
more  to  place  the  comely  widow  completely  within  the 
category  of  Cupid.  It  is  very  possible  for  a  woman  of 
forty  to  love,  and  to  love  with  all  her  heart  :  though  the 
world  seldom  takes  as  much  interest  in  her  weakness,  if 


1 3o  THE   WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

weakness  it  is,  as  in  those  of  younger  and  fairer  subjects 
of  the  passion.  To  own  the  truth,  Mrs.  Updyke  was  pro- 
foundly in  love,  while  her  betrothed  met  her  inclination 
with  an  answering  sympathy  that,  to  say  the  least,  was 
fully  equal  to  any  tender  sentiment  he  had  succeeded  in 
awakening. 

All  this  was  to  Tom  Dunscomb  what  he  called  "  nuts." 
Three  times  had  he  seen  his  old  friend  in  this  pleasant 
state  of  feeling,  and  three  times  was  he  chosen  to  be  an 
attendant  at  the  altar :  once  in  the  recognized  character  of 
a  groomsman,  and  on  the  other  two  occasions  in  that  of  a 
chosen  friend.  Whether  the  lawyer  had  himself  completely 
escaped  the  darts  of  the  little  god,  no  one  could  say,  so 
completely  had  he  succeeded  in  veiling  this  portion  of  his 
life  from  observation  ;  but,  whether  he  had  or  not,  he  made 
those  who  did  submit  to  the  passion  the  theme  of  his  un- 
tiring merriment. 

Children  usually  regard  these  tardy  inclinations  of  their 
parents  with  surprise,  if  not  with  downright  distaste.  Some 
little  surprise  the  pretty  Anna  Updyke  may  have  felt,  when 
she  was  told  by  a  venerable  great-aunt  that  her  mother 
was  about  to  be  married  ;  but  of  distaste  there  was  none. 
She  had  a  strong  regard  for  her  new  step-father,  that,  was 
to  be  ;  and  thought  it  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world 
to  love.  Sooth,  to  say,  Anna  Updyke  had  not  been  out 
two  years — the  American  girls  are  brought  out  so  young! 
— without  having  sundry  suitors.  Manhattan  is  the  easiest 
place  in  the  world  for  a  pretty  girl,  with  a  good  fortune, 
to  get  offers.  Pretty  girls  with  good  fortunes  are  usually 
in  request  everywhere  ;  but  it  requires  the  precise  state 
of  society  that  exists  in  the  "  Great  Commercial  Emporium," 
to  give  a  young  woman  the  highest  chance  in  the  old  lot- 
tery. There  where  one-half  of  the  world  came  from  other 
worlds  some  half  a  dozen  years  since ;  where  a  good  old 
Manhattan  name  is  regarded  as  upstart  among  a  crowd 
that  scarcely  knows  whence  it  was  itself  derived,  and 
whither  it  is  destined,  and  where  few  have  any  real  posi- 
tion in  society,  and  fewer  still  know  what  the  true  meaning 
of  the  term  is,  money  and  beauty  are  the  constant  objects 
of  pursuit.  Anna  Updyke  formed  no  exception.  She  had 
declined,  in  the  gentlest  manner  possible,  no  less  than  six 
direct  offers,  coming  from  those  who  were  determined  to 
lose  nothing  by  diffidence  ;  had  thrown  cold  water  on  more 
than  twice  that  number  of  little  flames  that  were  just  be- 
ginning to  burn  ;  and  had  thrown  into  the  fire  some  fifteen 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  13 V 

or  sixteen  anonymous  effusions,  in  prose  and  verse,  that 
came  from  adventurers  who  could  admire  from  a  distance, 
at  the  opera  and  in  the  streets,  but  who  had  no  present 
means  of  getting  any  nearer  than  these  indirect  attempts 
at  communication.  We  say  "thrown  into  the  fire; "for 
Anna  was  too  prudent,  and  had  too  much  self-respect,  to 
retain  such  documents,  coming  as  they  did,  from  so  many 
"Little  Unknowns."  The  anonymous  effusions  were  con- 
sequently burnt — with  one  exception.  The  exception  was 
in  the  case  of  a  sonnet,  in  which  her  hair — and  very  beauti- 
ful it  is — was  the  theme.  From  some  of  the  little  freemason- 
ry of  the  intercourse  of  the  sexes,  Anna  fancied  these  lines 
had  been  written  by  Jack  Wilmeter,  one  of  the  most  constant 
of  her  visitors,  as  well  as  one  of  her  admitted  favorites.  Be- 
tween Jack  and  Anna  there  had  been  divers  passages  of  gal- 
lantry, which  had  been  very  kindly  viewed  by  McBrain  and 
the  mother.  The  parties  themselves  did  not  understand 
their  own  feelings  ;  formatters  had  not  gone  far,  when  Mary 
Monson  so  strangely  appeared  on  the  stage,  and  drew 
Jack  off,  on  the  trail  of  wonder  and  mystery,  if  not  on 
that  of  real  passion.  As  Sarah  Wilmeter  was  the  most 
intimate  friend  of  Anna  Updyke,  it  is  not  extraordinary 
that  this  singular  fancy  of  the  brother's  should  be  the  sub- 
ject of  conversation  between  the  two  young  women,  each 
of  whom  probably  felt  more  interest  in  his  movements 
than  any  other  persons  on  earth.  The  dialogue  we  are 
about  to  relate  took  place  in  Anna's  own  room,  the  morn- 
ing of  the  day  which  preceded  that  of  the  wedding,  and 
followed  naturally  enough,  as  the  sequence  of  certain 
remarks  which  had  been  made  on  the  approaching  event. 

"If  my  mother  were  living,  and  must  be  married,"  said 
Sarah  Wilmeter,  "  I  should  be  very  well  content  to  have 
such  a  man  as  Doctor  McBrain  for  a  step-father.  I  have 
known  him  all  my  life,  and  he  is,  and  ever  has  been,  so 
intimate  with  Uncle  Tom,  that  I  almost  think  him  a  near 
relation." 

"And  I  have  known  him  as  long  as  I  can  remember," 
Anna  steadily  rejoined,  "  and  have  not  only  a  great  respect, 
but  a  warm  regard  for  him.  Should  I  ever  marry  myself, 
I  do  not  believe  I  shall  have  one-half  the  attachment  for 
my  father-in-law  as  I  am  sure  I  shall  feel  for  my  step- 
father." 

"  How  do  you  know  there  will  be  any  father-in-law  in 
the  case  ?  I  am  sure  John  has  no  parent." 

"  John  ! "  returned  Anna,  faintly — "  What  is  John  to  me  ? ' 


132  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear — he  is  something,  at  least  to  me? 

"To  be  sure — a  brother  naturally  is — but  Jack  is  no 
brother  of  mine,  you  will  please  to  remember." 

Sarah  cast  a  quick,  inquiring  look  at  her  friend  ;  but 
the  eyes  of  Anna  were  thrown  downward  on  the  carpet, 
while  the  Woom  on  her  cheeks  spread  to  her  temples. 
Her  friend  saw  that,  in  truth,  Jack  was  no  brother  of  hers. 

11  What  I  mean  is  this  " — continued  Sarah,  following  a 
thread  that  ran  through  her  own  mind,  rather  than  any- 
thing that  had  been  already  expressed — "  Jack  is  making 
himself  a  very  silly  fellow  just  now." 

Anna  now  raised  her  eyes  ;  her  lip  quivered  a  little, 
and  the  bloom  deserted  even  her  cheek.  Still,  she  made 
no  reply.  Women  can  listen  acutely  at  such  moments  ; 
but  it  commonly  exceeds  their  powers  to  speak.  The 
friends  understood  each  other,  as  Sarah  well  knew,  and 
she  continued  her  remarks  precisely  as  if  the  other  had 
answered  them. 

"  Michael  Millington  brings  strange  accounts  of  Jack's 
behavior  at  Biberry  !  He  says  that  he  seems  to  do  noth- 
ing, think  of  nothing,  talk  of  nothing,  but  of  the  hardship 
of  this  Mary  Monson's  case." 

"  I'm  sure  it  is  cruel  enough  to  awaken  the  pity  of  a 
rock,"  said  Anna  Updyke,  in  a  low  tone  ;  "a  woman,  and 
she  a  lady,  accused  of  such  terrible  crimes — murder  and 
arson  !  " 

"What  is  arson,  child  ? — and  how  do  you  know  anything 
about  it  ? " 

Again  Anna  colored,  her  feelings  being  all  sensitiveness 
on  this  subject  ;  which  had  caused  her  far  more  pain  than 
she  had  experienced  from  any  other  event  in  her  brief  life. 
It  was,  however,  necessary  to  answer. 

"  Arson  is  setting  fire  to  an  inhabited  house,"  she  said, 
after  a  moment's  reflection  ;  "  and  I  know  it  from  having 
been  told  its  signification  by  Mr.  Dunscomb." 

"  Did  Uncle  Tom  say  anything  of  this  Mary  Monson, 
and  of  Jack's  singular  behavior  ?  " 

"  He  spoke  of  his  client  as  a  very  extraordinary  person, 
and  of  her  accomplishments,  and  readiness,  and  beauty. 
Altogether,  he  does  not  seem  to  know  what  to  make  of  her." 

"And  what  did  he  say  about  Jack  ?  You  need  have  no 
reserve  with  me,  Anna  ;  I  am  his  sister." 

"  I  know  that  very  well,  dear  Sarah — but  Jack's  name 
was  not  mentioned,  I  believe — certainly  not  at  the  parties 
lar  time,  and  in  the  conversation  to  which  I  now  refer." 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  133 

"  But  at  some  other  time,  my  dear,  and  in  some  other  con- 
versation." 

"  He  did  once  say  something  about  your  brother's  being 
very  attentive  to  the  interests  of  the  person  he  calls  his 
Dukes  County  client — nothing  more,  I  do  assure  you.  It 
is  the  duty  of  young  lawyers  to  be  very  attentive  to  the 
interests  of  their  clients,  I  should  think." 

"  Assuredly — and  that  most  especially  when  the  client  is 
a  young  lady  with  a  pocket  full  of  money.  But  Jack 
is  above  want,  and  can  afford  to  act  right  at  all  times  and 
on  all  occasions.  I  wish  he  had  never  seen  this  strange 
creature." 

Anna  Updyke  sat  silent  for  some  little  time,  playing  with 
the  hem  of  her  pocket-handkerchief.  Then  she  said  tinv 
idly,  speaking  as  if  she  wished  an  answer,  even  while  she 
dreaded  it — 

"  Does  not  Marie  Moulin  know  something  about  her  ?" 

"  A  great  deal,  if  she  would  only  tell  it.  But  Marie,  too, 
has  gone  over  to  the  enemy,  since  she  has  seen  this  siren. 
Not  a  word  can  I  get  out  of  her,  though  I  have  written 
three  letters,  beyond  the  fact  that  she  knows  Mademoiselle, 
and  that  she  cannot  believe  her  guilty." 

"  The  last,  surely,  is  very  important.  If  really  innocent, 
how  hard  has  been  the  treatment  she  has  received  !  It  is 
not  surprising  that  your  brother  feels  so  deep  an  interest 
in  her.  He  is  very  warm-hearted  and  generous,  Sarah  ; 
and  it  is  just  like  him  to  devote  his  time  and  talents  to  the 
service  of  the  oppressed." 

It  was  Sarah's  turn  to  be  silent  and  thoughtful.  She 
made  no  answer,  for  she  well  understood  that  an  impulse 
very  different  from  that  mentioned  by  her  friend  was,  just 
then,  influencing  her  brother's  conduct. 

We  have  related  this  conversation  as  the  briefest  mode 
of  making  the  reader  acquainted  with  the  true  state  of 
things  in  and  about  the  neat  dwelling  o!  Mrs.  Updyke  in 
Eighth  Street.  Much,  however,  remains  to  be  told  ;  as  the 
morning  of  the  very  day  which  succeeded  that  on  which 
the  foregoing  dialogue  was  held,  was  the  one  named  for 
the  wedding  of  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

At  the  very  early  hour  of  six",  the  party  met  at  the  church 
door,  one  of  the  most  Gothic  structures  in  the  new  quarter 
of  the  town  ;  and  five  minutes  sufficed  to  make  the  two 
one.  Anna  sobbed  as  she  saw  her  mother  passing  away 
from  her,  as  it  then  appeared  to  her,  and  the  bride  herself 
was  a  little  overcome,  As  for  McBrain,  as  his  friend  Duns- 


134  THE   WAYS    OF   THE  HOUR. 

comb  expressed  it,  in  a  description  given  to  a  brother 
bachelor,  who  met  him  at  dinner  : 

"  He  stood  the  fire  like  a  veteran  !  You're  not  going  to 
frighten  a  fellow  who  has  held  forth  the  ring  three  times. 
You  will  remember  that  Ned  has  previously  killed  two 
wivQS,  besides  all  the  other  folk  he  has  slain  ;  and  I  make 
no  doubt  the  fellow's  confidence  was  a  good  deal  increased 
by  the  knowledge  he  possesses  that  none  of  us  are  im- 
mortal— as  husbands  and  wives,  at  least." 

But  Tom  Dunscomb's  pleasantries  had  no  influence  on 
his  friend's  happiness.  Odd  as  it  may  appear  to  some,  this 
connection  was  one  of  a  warm  and  very  sincere  attachment. 
Neither  of  the  parties  had  reached  the  period  of  life  when 
nature  begins  to  yield  to  the  pressure  of  time,  and  there 
was  the  reasonable  prospect  before  them  of  their  contrib- 
uting largely  to  each  other's  future  happiness.  The  bride 
was  dressed  with  great  simplicity,  but  with  a  proper  care  ; 
and  she  really  justified  the  passion  that  McBrain  insisted, 
in  his  conversation  with  Dunscomb,  that  he  felt  for  her. 
Youthful,  for  her  time  of  life,  modest  in  demeanor  and 
aspect,  still  attractive  in  person,  the  "  Widow  Updyke  " 
became  Mrs.  McBrain,  with  as  charming  an  air  of  woman- 
ly feeling  as  might  have  been  exhibited  by  one  of  less  than 
half  her  age.  Covered  with  blushes,  she  was  handed  by 
the  bridegroom  into  his  own  carriage,  which  stood  at  the 
church  door,  and  the  two  proceeded  to  Timbully. 

As  for  Anna  Updyke,  she  went  to  pass  a  week  in  the 
country  with  Sarah  Dunscomb  ;  even  a  daughter  being  a 
little  de  trop,  in  a  honey-moon.  Rattletrap  was  the  singu- 
lar name  Tom  Dunscomb  had  given  to  his  country-house. 
It  was  a  small  villa-like  residence,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Hudson,  and  within  the  Island  of  Manhattan.  Concealed 
in  a  wood,  it  was  a  famous  place  for  a  bachelor  to  hide  his 
oddities  in.  Here  Dunscomb  concentrated  all  his  out-of- 
the-way  purchases,  including  plows  that  were  never  used, 
all  sorts  of  farming  utensils  that  were  condemned  to  the 
same  idleness,  and  such  contrivances  in  the  arts  of  fishing 
and  shooting  as  struck  his  fancy  ;  though  the  lawyer  never 
handled  a  rod  or  levelled  a  fowling-piece.  But  Tom  Duns- 
comb,  though  he  professed  to  despise  love,  had  fancies  of 
his  own.  It  gave  him  a  certain  degree  of  pleasure  to  seem 
to  have  these  several  tastes  ;  and  he  threw  away  a  good 
deai  of  money  in  purchasing  these  characteristic  orna- 
ments for  Rattletrap.  When  Jack  Wilmeter  ventured  one 
day  to  ask  his  uncle  what  pleasure  he  could  find  in  collect- 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  135 

ing  so  many  costly  and  perfectly  useless  articles,  imple- 
ments that  had  not  the  smallest  apparent  connection  with 
his  ordinary  pursuits  and  profession,  he  got  the  following 
answer  : 

"You  are  wrong,  Jack,  in  supposing  that  these  traps  are 
useless.  A  lawyer  has  occasion  for  a  vast  deal  of  knowl- 
edge that  he  will  never  got  out  of  his  books.  One  should 
have  the  elements  of  all  the  sciences,  and  of  most  of  the 
arts,  in  his  mind,  to  make  a  thoroughly  good  advocate  ;  for 
their  application  will  become  neccessary  on  a  thousand 
occasions,  when  Blackstone  and  Kent  can  be  of  no  service. 
No,  no ;  I  prize  my  profession  highly,  and  look  upon  Rat- 
tletrap as  my  Inn  of  Court." 

Jack  Wilmeter  had  come  over  from  Biberry  to  attend 
the  wedding,  and  had  now  accompanied  the  party  into  the 
country,  as  it  was  called  ;  though  the  place  of  Dunscomb 
was  so  near  town  that  it  was  not  difficult,  when  the  wind 
was  at  the  southward,  to  hear  the  fire-bell  on  the  City 
Hall.  The  meeting  between  John  Wilmeter  and  Anna 
Updyke  had  been  fortunately  a  little  relieved  by  the  pecul- 
iar circumstances  in  which  the  latter  was  placed.  The 
feeling  she  betrayed,  the  pallor  of  her  cheek,  and  the  ner- 
vousness of  her  deportment,  might  all,  naturally  enough, 
be  imputed  to  the  emotions  of  a  daughter,  who  saw  her 
own  mother  standing  at  the  altar,  by  the  side  of  one  who 
was  not  her  natural  father.  Let  this  be  as  it  might,  Anna 
had  the  advantage  of  the  inferences  which  those  around 
her  made  on  these  facts.  The  young  people  met  first  in 
the  church,  where  there  was  no  opportunity  for  any  ex- 
change of  language  or  looks.  Sarah  took  her  friend  away 
with  her  alone,  on  the  road  to  Rattletrap,  immediately 
after  the  ceremony,  in  order  to  allow  Anna's  spirits  and 
manner  to  become  composed,  without  being  subjected  to 
unpleasant  observation.  Dunscomb  and  his  nephew  drove 
out  in  a  light  vehicle  of  the  latter's  ;  and  Michael  Milling- 
ton  appeared  later  at  the  villa,  bringing  with  him  to  dinner, 
Timms,  who  came  on  business  connected  with  the  ap- 
proaching trial. 

There  never  had  been  any  love-making,  in  the  direct 
meaning  of  the  term,  between  John  Wilmeter  and  Anna 
Updyke.  They  had  known  each  other  so  long  and  so  inti- 
mately, that  both  regarded  the  feeling  of  kindness  that  each 
knew  subsisted,  as  a  mere  fraternal  sort  of  affection.  "  Jack 
is  Sarah's  brother,"  thought  Anna,  when  she  permitted 
herself  to  reason  on  the  subject  at  all  ;  "and  it  is  natural 


136  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

that  I  should  have  more  friendship  for  him  than  for  any 
other  young  man."  "  Anna  is  Sarah's  most  intimate  friend," 
thought  Jack,  "  and  that  is  the  long  and  short  of  my  at- 
tachment for  her.  Take  away  Sarah,  and  Anna  would  be 
nothing  to  me  ;  though  she  is  so  pretty,  and  clever,  and 
gentle,  and  lady-like.  I  must  like  those  Sarah  likes,  or  it 
might  make  us  both  unhappy."  This  was  the  reasoning  of 
nineteen,  and  when  Anna  Updyke  was  just  budding  into 
young  womanhood  ;  at  a  later  day,  habit  had  got  to  be  so 
much  in  the  ascendant,  that  neither  of  the  young  people 
thought  much  on  the  subject  at  all.  The  preference  was 
strong  in  each — so  strong,  indeed,  as  to  hover  over  the  con- 
fines of  passion,  and  quite  near  to  its  vortex  ;  though  the 
long-accustomed  feeling  prevented  either  from  entering 
into  its  analysis.  The  attachments  that  grow  up  with  our 
daily  associations,  and  get  to  be  so  interwoven  with  our 
most  familiar  thoughts,  seldom  carry  away  those  who  sub- 
mit to  them,  in  the  whirlwind  of  passion  ;  which  are  much 
more  apt  to  attend  sudden  and  impulsive  love.  Cases  do 
certainly  occur  in  which  the  parties  have  long  known  each 
other,  and  have  lived  on  for  years  in  a  dull  appreciation  of 
mutual  merit — sometimes  with  prejudices  and  alienation 
active  between  them  ;  when  suddenly  all  is  changed,  and 
the  scene  that  was  lately  so  tranquil  and  tame  becomes 
tumultuous  and  glowing,  and  life  assumes  a  new  charm,  as 
the  profound  emotions  of  passion  chase  away  its  dulness  ; 
substituting  hope,  and  fears,  and  lively  wishes,  and  soul- 
felt  impressions  in  its  stead.  This  is  not  usual  in  the  course 
of  the  most  wayward  of  all  our  impulses  ;  but  it  does  oc- 
casionally happen,  brightening  existence  with  a  glow  that 
might  well  be  termed  divine,  were  the  colors  bestowed 
derived  from  a  love  of  the  Creator,  in  lieu  of  that  of  one 
of  his  creatures.  In  these  sudden  awakenings  of  dormant 
feelings,  some  chord  of  mutual  sympathy,  some  deep-rooted 
affinity  is  aroused,  carrying  away  their  possessors  in  a  tor- 
rent of  the  feelings.  Occasionally,  wherever  the  affinity  is 
active,  the  impulse  natural  and  strongly  sympathetic,  these 
sudden  and  seemingly  wayward  attachments  are  the  most 
indelible,  coloring  the  whole  of  the  remainder  of  life  ;  but 
oftener  do  they  take  the  character  of  mere  impulse,  rather 
than  that  of  deeper  sentiment,  and  disappear,  as  they  were 
first  seen,  in  some  sudden  glow  of  the  horizon  of  the  affec- 
tions. 

In  this  brief  analysis  of  some  of  the  workings  of  the 
heart,  we  may  find  a   clew  to  the  actual  frame  of  mind  in 


THE  WAYS  OF  THE  HOUR.  137 

wliicli  John  Wilmeter  returned  from  Biberry,  where  he  had 
now  been,  like  a  sentinel  on  post,  for  several  weeks,  in 
vigilant  watchfulness  over  the  interests  of  Mary  Monson. 
During  all  that  time,  however,  he  had  not  once  been  ad- 
mitted within  the  legal  limits  of  the  prison ;  holding  his 
brief,  but  rather  numerous  conferences  with  his  client,  at 
the  little  grate  in  the  massive  door  that  separated  the  jail 
from  the  dwelling  of  the  sheriff.  Kind-hearted  Mrs.  Gott 
would  have  admitted  him  to  the  gallery,  whenever  he  chose 
to  ask  that  favor ;  but  this  act  of  courtesy  had  been  for- 
bidden by  Mary  Monson  herself.  Timms  she  did  receive, 
and  she  conferred  with  him  in  private  on  more  than  one 
occasion,  manifesting  great  earnestness  in  the  consultations 
that  preceded  the  approaching  trial.  But  John  "Wilmeter 
she  would  receive  only  at  the  grate,  like  a  nun  in  a  well- 
regulated  convent.  Even  this  coyness  contributed  to  feed 
the  fire  that  had  been  so  suddenly  lighted  in  the  young 
man's  heart,  on  which  the  strangeness  of  the  prisoner's 
situation,  her  personal  attractions,  her  manners,  and  all  the 
other  known  peculiarities  of  person,  history,  education  and 
deportment,  had  united  to  produce  a  most  lively  impres- 
sion, however  fleeting  it  was  to  prove  in  the  end. 

Had  there  been  any  direct  communications  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  attachment  that  had  so  long,  so  slowly,  but  so 
surely  been  taking  roots  in  the  hearts  of  John  and  Anna, 
any  reciprocity  in  open  confidence,  this  unlooked-for  im- 
pulse in  a  new  direction  could  not  have  overtaken  the 
young  man.  He  did  not  know  how  profound  was  the  in- 
terest that  Anna  took  in  him;  nor,  for  that  matter,  was  she 
aware  of  it  herself,  until  Michael  Millington  brought  the 
unpleasant  tidings  of  the  manner  in  which  his  friend  seemed 
to  be  entranced  with  his  uncle;s  client  at  Biberry.  Then  in- 
deed, Anna  was  made  to  feel  that  surest  attendant  of  the  live- 
liest love,  a  pang  of  jealousy;  and  for  the  first  time  in  her 
young  and  innocent  life  she  became  aware  of  the  real  nature 
of  her  sentiments  in  behalf  of  John  Wilmeter.  On  the  other 
hand,  drawn  aside  from  the  ordinary  course  of  his  affections 
by  sudden,  impulsive  and  exciting  novelties,  John  was  fast 
submitting  to  the  influence  of  the  charms  of  the  fair  stran- 
ger, as  more  than  once  intimated  in  our  opening  pages,  as  tha 
newly -fallen  snow  melts  under  the  raj^s  of  a  noonday  sun. 

Such,  then,  was  the  state  of  matters  in  this  little  circk-, 
when  the  wedding  took  placo,  and  John  Wilmeter  joined 
the  family  party.  Although  Dunscomb  did  all  he  could  to 


138  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

make  the  dinner  gay,  Rattletrap  had  seldom  entertained  a 
more  silent  company  than  that  which  sat  down  at  its  little 
round  table  on  this  occasion.  John  thought  of  Biberry 
and  Mary  Monson  ;  Sarah's  imagination  was  quite  busy  in 
wondering  why  Michael  Millington  stayed  away  so  long  ; 
and  Anna  was  on  the  point  of  bursting  into  tears  half  a 
dozen  times,  under  the  depression  produced  by  the  joint 
events  of  her  mother's  marriage,  and  John  Wilmeter's  ob- 
vious change  of  deportment  toward  her. 

"  What  the  deuce  has  kept  Michael  Millington  and  that 
fellow  Timms  from  joining  us  at  dinner?"  said  the  master 
of  the  house,  as  the  fruit  was  placed  upon  the  table  ;  and, 
closing  one  eye,  he  looked  with  the  other  through  the  ruby 
rays  of  a  glass  of  well-cooled  Madeira — his  favorite  wine. 
"  Both  promised  to  be  punctual  ;  yet  here  are  they  both 
sadly  out  of  time.  They  knew  the  dinner  was  to  come  off 
at  four." 

"As  is  one,  so  are  both,"  answered  John.  "You  will 
remember  they  were  to  come  together  ?  " 

"  True — and  Millington  is  rather  a  punctual  man — es- 
pecially in  visiting  at  Rattletrap  " — here  Sarah  blushed  a 
little  ;  but  the  engagement  in  her  case  being  announced, 
there  was  no  occasion  for  any  particular  confusion.  "  We 
shall  have  to  take  Michael  with  us  into  Dukes  next  week, 
Miss  Wilmeter  ;  the  case  being  too  grave  to  neglect  bring- 
ing up  all  our  forces." 

"  Is  Jack,  too,  to  take  a  part  in  the  trial,  Uncle  Tom  ?  " 
demanded  the  niece,  with  a  little  interest  in  the  answer. 

"  Jack,  too — everybody,  in  short.  When  the  life  of  a  fine 
young  woman  is  concerned,  it  behooves  her  counsel  to  be 
active  and  diligent.  I  have  never  before  had  a  cause  into 
which  my  feelings  have  so  completely  entered — no,  never." 

"  Do  not  counsel  always  enter,  heart  and  hand,  into  their 
clients'  interests,  and  make  themselves,  as  it  might  be,  as 
you  gentlemen  of  the  bar  sometimes  term  these  things,  a 
*  part  and  parcel '  of  their  concerns  ?  " 

This  question  was  put  by  Sarah,  but  it  caused  Anna  to 
raise  her  eyes  from  the  fruit  she  was  pretending  to  eat, 
and  to  listen  intently  to  the  reply.  Perhaps  she  fancied 
that  the  answer  might  explain  the  absorbed  manner  in 
which  John  had  engaged  in  the  service  of  the  accused. 

"  As  far  from  it  as  possible,  in  many  cases,"  returned  the 
uncle  ;  "  though  there  certainly  are  others  in  which  one 
engages  with  all  his  feelings.  But  every  day  lessens  my 
interest  in  the  law,  and  all  that  belongs  to  it." 


*   THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  139 

"  Why  should  that  be  so.  sir  ?  I  have  heard  you  called 
a  devotee  of  the  profession." 

u  That's  because  I  have  no  wife.  Let  a  man  live  a  bache- 
lor, and  ten  to  one  he  gets  some  nickname  or  other.  On 
the  other  hand,  let  him  marry  two  or  three  times,  like  Ned 
McBrain — beg  your  pardon,  Nanny,  for  speaking  disre- 
spectfully of  your  papa — but  let  a  fellow  just  get  his  third 
wife,  and  they  tack  'family'  to  his  appellation  at  once. 
He's  an  excellent  family  lawyer,  or  a  capital  family  physi- 
cian, or  a  supremely  pious — no,  I  don't  know  that  they've 
got  so  far  as  the  parsons,  for  they  are  all  family  fellows." 

"  You  have  a  spite  against  matrimony,  Uncle  Tom." 

"  Well,  if  I  have,  it  stops  with  me,  as  a  family ^com  plaint. 
You  are  free  from  it,  my  dear  ;  and  I'm  half  inclined  to 
think  Jack  will  marry  before  he  is  a  year  older.  But  here 
are  the  tardies  at  last." 

Although  the  uncle  made  no  allusion  to  the  person  his 
nephew  was  to  marry,  everybody  but  himself  thought  of 
Mary  Monson  at  once.  Anna  turned  pale  as  death  ;  Sarah 
looked  thoughtful,  and  even  sad  ;  and  John  became  as  red 
as  scarlet.  But  the  entrance  of  Michael  Millington  and 
Timms  caused  the  conversation  to  turn  on  another  subject, 
as  a  matter  of  course. 

"We  expected  you  to  dinner,  gentlemen,"  Dunscomb 
dryly  remarked,  as  he  pushed  the  bottle  to  his  guests. 

"  Business  before  eating  is  my  maxim,  Squire  Duns- 
comb,"  Timms  replied.  "  Mr.  Millington  and  I  have  been 
very  busy  in  the  office,  from  the  moment  Doctor  McBrain 
and  his  lady " 

"  Wife — say  *  wife,'  Timms,  if  you  please.  Or  '  Mrs. 
McBrain,'  if  you  like  that  better." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  used  the  word  I  did  out  of  compliment  to 
the  other  ladies  present.  They  love  to  be  honored  and 
signalized  in  our  language,  when  we  speak  of  them,  sir,  I 
believe." 

"  Poh  !  poh !  Timms ;  take  my  advice,  and  let  all  these 
small  matters  alone.  It  takes  a  life  to  master  them,  and 
one  must  begin  from  the  cradle.  When  all  is  ended,  they 
are  scarce  worth  the  trouble  they  give.  Speak  good,  plain, 
direct,  and  manly  English,  I  have  always  told  you,  and 
you'll  get  along  well  enough,  but  make  no  attempts  to  be 
fine.  '  Doctor  McBrain  and  lady'  is  next  thing  to  'going 
through  Hurlgate  '  or  meeting  a  *  lady  friend.'  You'll 
never  get  the  right  sort  of  a  wife  until  you  drop  all  such 
absurdities." 


HO  THE  WA  YS   OF  THE  HOUR.  ' 

"I'll  tell  you  how  it  is,  squire:  so  far  as  law  goes,  or 
even  morals,  and  I  don't  know  but  I  may  say  general  gov- 
ernment politics,  I  look  upon  you  as  the  best  adviser  I  can 
consult.  But  when  it  comes  to  matrimony,  I  can't  see 
how  you  should  know  any  more  about  it  than  I  do  myself, 
I  do  intend  to  get  married  one  of  these  days,  which  is 
more,  I  fancy,  than  you  ever  had  in  view." 

"  No  ;  my  great  concern  has  been  to  escape  matrimony  ; 
but  a  man  may  get  a  very  tolerable  notion  of  the  sex  while 
manoeuvring  among  them,  with  that  intention.  I  am  not 
certain  that  he  who  has  had  two  or  three  handsomely  man- 
aged escapes,  doesn't  learn  as  much  as  he  who  has  had  two 
or  three  wives — I  mean  of  useful  information.  What  do 
you  think  of  all  this,  Millington  ? " 

"That  I  wish  for  no  escapes,  when  my  choice  has  been 
free  and  fortunate." 

"  And  you,  Jack  ?  " 

"  Sir  !  "  answered  the  nephew,  starting  as  if  aroused 
from  a  brown  study.  "  Did  you  speak  to  me,  Uncle  Tom?" 

*'  Jife'll  not  be  of  much  use  to  us  next  week,  Timms," 
said  the  counsellor,  coolly,  filling  his  own  and  his  neigh- 
bor's glass  as  he  spoke,  with  iced  Madeira — "  These  capital 
cases  demand  the  utmost  vigilance  ;  more  especially  when 
popular  prejudice  sets  in  against  them." 

"Should  the  jury  find  Mary  Monson  to  be  guilty,  what 
would  be  the  sentence  of  the  court?"  demanded  Sarah, 
smiling,  even  while  she  seemed  much  interested — "  I  be- 
lieve that  is  right,  Mike — the  court  '  sentences,'  and  the 
jury  'convicts.'  If  there  be  any  mistake,  you  must  answer 
for  it."  v 

"  I  am  afraid  to  speak  of  laws,  or  constitutions,  in  the 
presence  of  your  uncle,  since  the  rebuke  Jack  and  I  got 
in  that  affair  of  the  toast,"  returned  Sarah's  betrothed,  arch- 
ing his  eyebrows. 

"  By  the  way,  Jack,  did  that  dinner  ever  come  off  ? "  de- 
manded the  uncle,  suddenly  ;  "  I  looked  for  your  toasts  in 
the  journals,  but  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  seen 
them." 

"  You  could  not  have  seen  any  of  mine,  sir ;  for  I  went 
to  Biberry  that  very  morning,  and  only  left  there  last  even- 
ing " — Anna's  countenance  resembled  a  lily,  just  as  it  be- 
gins to  droop — "  I  believe,  however,  the  whole  affair  fell 
through,  as  no  one  seems  to  know,  just  now,  who  are  and 
who  are  not  the  friends  of  liberty.  It  is  the  people  to- 
day ;  some  prince  to-morrow ;  the  Pope  next  day ;  and, 


THE  WATS   OF  THE  HOUR.  141 

by  the  end  of  the  week,  we  may  have  a  Masaniello  or  \\ 
Robespierre  uppermost.  The  times  seem  sadly  out  of 
joint  just  now,  and  the  world  is  fast  getting  to  be  upside- 
down." 

"  It's  all  owing  to  this  infernal  Code,  Timms,  which  is 
enough  to  revolutionize  human  nature  itself  !  "  cried  Duns- 
comb,  with  an  animation  that  produced  a  laugh  in  the 
young  folk  (Anna  excepted),  and  a  simper  in  the  person 
addressed.  "  Ever  since  this  thing  has  come  into  opera- 
tion among  us,  I  never  know  when  a  case  is  to  be  heard, 
the  decision  had,  or  the  principles  that  are  to  come  upper- 
most. Well,  we  must  try  and  get  some  good  out  of  it,  if 
we  can,  in  this  capital  case." 

"Which  is  drawing  very  near,  squire  ;  and  I  have  some 
facts  to  communicate  in  that  affair  which  it  may  be  well 
to  compare  with  the  law,  without  much  more  delay." 

"  Let  us  finish  this  bottle — if  the  boys  help  us,  it  will 
not  be  much  more  than  a  glass  apiece." 

"  I  don't  think  the  squire  will  ever  be  upheld  at  the  polls 
by  the  temperance  people,"  said  Timms,  filling  his  glass 
to  the  brim  ;  for,  to  own  the  truth,  it  was  seldom  that  he 
got  such  wine. 

"  A.syou  are  expecting  to  be  held  up  by  them,  my  fine 
fellow.  I've  heard  of  your  management,  Master  Timms, 
and  am  told  you  aspire  as  high  as  the  State  Senate.  Well ; 
there  is  room  for  better,  but  much  worse  men  have  been 
sent  there.  Now  let  us  go  to  what  I  call  the  *  Rattletrap 
office.' " 


CHAPTER  XL 

The  strawberry  grows  underneath  the  nettle, 
And  wholesome  berries  thrive  and  ripen  best, 
Neigh  bor'd  by  fruit  of  baser  quality. — King  Henry  V. 

THERE  stood  a  very  pretty  pavilion  in  one  of  the  groves 
of  Rattletrap,  overhanging  the  water,  with  the  rock  of  the 
river-shore  for  its  foundation.  It  had  two  small  apart- 
ments, in  one  of  which  Dunscomb  had  caused  a  bookcase, 
a  table,  a  rocking-chair,  and  a  lounge  to  be  placed.  The 
other  was  furnished  more  like  an  ordinary  summer-house, 
and  was  at  all  times  accessible  to  the  inmates  of  the  family. 
The  sanctum,  or  office,  was  kept  locked  ;  and  here  its 
owner  often  brought  his  papers,  and  passed  whp'e  days, 


142  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

during  the  warm  months,  when  it  is  the  usage  to  be  out  of 
town,  in  preparing  his  cases.  To  this  spot,  then,  the  coun- 
sellor now  held  his  wray,  attended  by  Timms,  having  or- 
dered a  servant  to  bring  a  light  and  some  cigars  ;  smoking 
being  one  of  the  regular  occupations  of  the  office.  In  a 
few  minutes,  each  of  the  two  men  of  the  law  had  a  cigar 
in  his  mouth,  and  was  seated  at  a  little  window  that  com- 
manded a  fine  view  of  the  Hudson,  its  fleet  of  sloops, 
steamers,  tow-boats,  and  colliers,  and  its  high,  rocky  west- 
ern shore,  which  has  obtained  the  not  inappropriate  name 
of  the  Palisades. 

The  cigars,  the  glass,  and  the  pleasant  scenery,  teeming 
as  was  the  last  with  movement  and  life,  appeared,  for  the 
moment,  to  drive  from  the  minds  of  the  two  men  of  the 
law  the  business  on  which  they  had  met.  It  was  a  proof 
of  the  effect  of  habit  that  a  person  like  Dunscomb,  who 
was  really  a  good  man,  and  one  who  loved  his  fellow- 
creatures,  could  just  then  forget  that  a  human  life  was,  in 
some  measure,  dependent  on  the  decisions  of  this  very  in- 
terview, and  permit  his  thoughts  to  wander  from  so  im- 
portant an  interest.  So  it  was,  however ;  and  the  first 
topic  that  arose  in  this  consultation  had  no  reference  what- 
ever to  Mary  Monson  or  her  approaching  trial,  though  it 
soon  led  the  colloquists  round  to  her  situation,  as  it  might 
be,  without  their  intending  it. 

"  This  is  a  charming  retreat,  Squire  Dunscomb,"  com- 
menced Timms,  settling  himself  with  some  method  in  a 
very  commodious  arm-chair  ;  "  and  one  that  I  should  often 
frequent,  did  I  own  it." 

"  I  hope  you  will  live  to  be  master  of  one  quite  as  pleas- 
ant, Timms,  some  time  or  other.  They  tell  me  your  prac- 
tice now  is  one  of  the  best  in  Dukes  ;  some  two  or  three 
thousand  a  year,  I  dare  say,  if  the  truth  were  known." 

"  It's  as  good  as  anybody's  on  our  circuit,  unless  you 
count  the  bigwigs  from  York.  I  won't  name  the  sum, 
even  to  as  old  a  friend  as  yourself,  squire  ;  for  the  man 
who  lets  the  world  peep  into  his  purse,  will  soon  find  it 
footing  him  up,  like  a  sum  in  arithmetic.  You've  gentle- 
men in  town,  however,  who  sometimes  get  more  for  a  sin- 
gle case,  than  I  can  'arn  in  a  twelvemonth." 

"Still,  considering  your  beginning,  and  late  appearance 
at  the  bar,  Timms,  you  are  doing  pretty  well.  Do  you 
lead  in  many  trials  at  the  circuit  ? " 

"That  depends  pretty  much  on  age,  you  know,  squire. 
Gen'rally  older  lawyers  are  put  into  all  my  causes  ;  but  I 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  143 

have  carried  one  or  two  through  on  my  own  shoulders, 
and  that  by  main  strength  too." 

"  It  must  have  been  by  your  facts,  rather  than  by  your 
law.  The  verdicts  turned  altogether  on  testimony,  did 
they  not  ? " 

"  Pretty  much — and  that's  the  sort  of  a  case  /  like.  A 
man  can  prepare  his  evidence  beforehand,  and  make  some 
calculations  where  it  will  land  him  ;  but,  as  for  the  law,  I 
do  not  see  that  studying  it  as  hard  as  I  will,  makes  me 
much  the  wiser.  A  case  is  no  sooner  settled  one  way  by 
a  judge  in  New  York,  than  it  is  settled  in  another,  in  Penn- 
sylvany  or  Virginny." 

"  And  that,  too,  when  courts  were  identical  and  had  a 
character!  Now,  we  have  eight  Supreme  Courts,  and 
they  are  beginning  to  settle  the  law  in  eight  different  ways. 
Have  you  studied  the  Code  pretty  closely,  Timms  ?" 

"  Not  I,  sir.  They  tell  me  things  will  come  round  under 
it  in  time,  and  I  try  to  be  patient.  There's  one  thing 
about  it  that  I  do  like.  It  has  taken  all  the  Latin  out  of 
the  law,  which  is  a  great  help  to  us  poor  scholars." 

"  It  has  that  advantage,  I  confess  ;  and  before  it  is  done, 
it  will  take  all  the  law  out  of  the  Latin.  They  tell  me  it 
was  proposed  to  call  the  old  process  of  '  ne  exeat '  a  writ  of 
*  no  go.'  " 

"  Well,  to  my  mind,  the  last  would  be  the  best  term  of 
the  two." 

"Ay,  to  your  mind,  it  might,  Timms.  How  do  you  like 
the  fee-bills,  and  the  new  mode  of  obtaining  your  compen- 
sation ?" 

"  Capital  !  The  more  they  change  them  matters,  the 
deeper  we'll  dig  into  'em,  squire  !  I  never  knew  reform 
help  the  great  body  of  the  community — all  it  favors  is  in- 
dividuals." 

"  There  is  more  truth  in  that,  Timms,  than  you  are 
probably  aware  of  yourself.  Reform,  fully  half  the  time, 
does  no  more  than  shift  the  pack-saddle  from  one  set  of 
shoulders  to  another.  Nor  do  I  believe  much  is  gained 
be  endeavoring  to  make  law  cheap.  It  were  better  for 
the  community  that  it  should  be  dear  ;  though  cases  do 
occur  in  which  its  charges  might  amount  to  a  denial  of 
justice.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  world  oftener  de- 
cides under  the  influence  of  exceptions,  rather  than  under 
that  of  the  rule.  Besides,  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  check  the 
gains  of  a  thousand  or  two  of  hungry  attorneys." 

"  There  you're  right,  squire,  if  you  never  hit  the  nail  on 


144  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

the  head  before.  But  the  new  scheme  is  working  well  for 
us,  and,  in  one  sense,  it  may  work  well  for  the  people. 
The  compensation  is  the  first  thing  thought  of  now  ;  and 
when  that  is  the  case,  the  client  stops  to  think.  It  isn't 
every  person  that  holds  as  large  and  as  open  a  purse  as 
our  lady  at  Biberry  !  " 

"  Ay,  she  continues  to  fee  you,  does  she,  Timms  ?  Pray, 
how  much  has  she  given  you,  altogether  ? " 

"  Not  enough  to  build  a  new  \ving  to  the  Astor  Library, 
nor  to  set  up  a  parson  in  a  Gothic  temple ;  still,  enough  to 
engage  me,  heart  and  hand,  in  her  service.  First  and  last, 
my  receipts  have  been  a  thousand  dollars,  besides  money 
for  the  outlays." 

"Which  have  amounted  to — 

"  More  than  as  much  more.  This  is  a  matter  of  life  and 
death,  you  know,  sir  ;  and  prices  rise  accordingly.  All  I 
have  received  has  been  handed  to  me  either  in  gold  or 
in  good  current  paper.  The  first  troubled  me  a  good  deal, 
for  I  was  not  certain  some  more  pieces  might  not  be  recog- 
nized, though  they  were  all  eagles  and  half-eagles." 

"  Has  any  such  recognition  occurred  ?"  demanded  Duns- 
comb,  with  interest. 

"  To  be  frank  with  you,  Squire  Dunscomb,  I  sent  the 
money  to  town  at  once,  and  set  it  afloat  in  the  great  cur- 
rent in  Wall  Street,  where  it  could  do  neither  good  nor 
harm  on  the  trial.  It  would  have  been  very  green  in  me  to 
pay  out  the  precise  coin  among  the  people  of  Dukes.  No 
one  could  say  what  might  have  been  the  consequences." 

"  It  is  not  very  easy  for  me  to  foretell  the  consequences 
of  the  substitutes  which,  it  seems,  you  did  use.  A  fee  to  a 
counsel  I  can  understand  ;  but  what  the  deuce  you  have 
done,  legally,  with  a  thousand  dollars  out-of-doors,  ex- 
ceeds my  penetration.  I  trust  you  have  not  been  attempt- 
ing to  purchase  jurors,  Timms?" 

"  Not  I,  sir.  I  know  the  penalties  too  well,  to  venture 
on  such  a  defence.  Besides,  it  is  too  soon  to  attempt  that 
game.  Jurors  may  be  bought ;  sometimes  are  bought,  I 
have  heard  say  " — here  Timms  screwed  up  his  face  into  a 
most  significant  mimicry  of  disapprobation — "but  /  have 
done  nothing  of  the  sort  in  the  'State  vs.  Mary  Monson.' 
It  is  too  soon  to  operate,  even  should  the  testimony  drive 
us  to  that,  in  the  long  run." 

"I  forbid  all  illegal  measures,  Timms.  You  know  my 
rule  of  trying  causes  is  never  to  overstep  the  limits  of  the 
law." 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  145 

"Yes,  sir;  I  understand  your  principle,  which  will  an- 
swer, provided  both  sides  stick  to  it.  But,  let  a  man  act 
as  close  to  what  is  called  honesty  as  he  please,  what  cer- 
tainty has  he  that  his  adversary  will  observe  the  same  rule  ? 
This  is  the  great  difficulty  I  find  in  getting  along  in  the 
world,  squire  ;  opposition  upsets  all  a  man's  best  inten- 
tions. Now,  in  politics,  sir,  there  is  no  man  in  the  country 
better  disposed  to  uphold  respectable  candidates  and  just 
principles  than  I  am  myself  ;  but  the  other  side  squeezes 
us  up  so  tight,  that  before  the  election  comes  off  I'm 
ready  to  vote  for  the  devil,  rather  than  get  the  worst  of 
it." 

"Ay,  that's  the  wicked  man's  excuse  all  over  the  world, 
Timms.  In  voting  for  the  gentleman  you  have  just  men- 
tioned, you  will  remember  you  are  sustaining  the  enemy 
of  your  race,  whatever  maybe  his  particular  relation  to 
his  party.  But  in  this  affair  at  Biberry,  you  will  please  to 
•remember  it  is  not  an  election,  nor  is  the  devil  a  candi- 
date. What  success  have  you  had  with  the  testimony  ? " 

"  There's  an  abstract  of  it,  sir ;  and  a  pretty  mess  it  is  ! 
So  far  as  I  can  see,  we  shall  have  to  rest  entirely  on  the 
witnesses  of  the  State  ;  for  I  can  get  nothing  out  of  the 
accused." 

"  Does  she  still  insist  on  her  silence,  in  respect  of  the 
past  ? "  _ 

"As  close  as  if  she  had  been  born  dumb.  I  have  told 
her  in  the  strongest  language,  that  her  life  depends  on  her 
appearing  before  the  jury  with  a  plain  tale  and  a  good 
character  ;  but  she  will  help  me  to  neither.  I  never  had 
such  a  client  before " 

"Open-handed  you  mean,  I  suppose,  Timms?" 

"In  that  partic'lar,  Squire  Dunscomb,  she  is  just  what 
the  profession  likes — liberal,  and  pays  down.  Of  course, 
I  am  so  much  the  more  anxious  to  do  all  I  can  in  her  case  ; 
but  she  will  not  let  me  serve  her." 

"  There  must  be  some  strong  reason  for  all  this  reserve, 
Timms.  Have  you  questioned  the  Swiss  maid  that  my 
niece  sent  to  her  ?  We  know  her,  and  it  would  seem  that 
she  knows  Mary  Monson.  Here  is  so  obvious  a  way  of 
coming  at  the  past,  I  trust  you  have  spoken  to  her  ? " 

"  She  will  not  let  me  say  a  word  to  the  maid.  There 
they  live  together,  chatter  with  one  another  from  morning 
to  night,  in  French  that  nobody  understands  ;  but  will  see 
no  one  but  me,  and  me  only  in  public,  as  it  might  be." 

"In  public  !     You  have  not  asked  for  private  interviews, 


«46  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

eh,  Timms?  Remember  your  views  upon  the  county,  and 
the  great  danger  there  is  of  the  electors  finding  you 
out." 

"I  well  know,  Squire  Dunscomb,  that  your  opinion  of 
me  is  not  very  flattering  in  some  partic'lars  ;  while  in  oth- 
ers I  think  you  place  me  pretty  well  up  the  ladder.  As 
for  old  Dukes,  I  believe  I  stand  as  well  in  that  county  as 
any  man  in  it,  now  the  Revolutionary  patriots  are  nearly 
gone.  So  long  as  any  of  them  lasted,  we  modern  fellows 
had  no  chance  ;  and  the  way  in  which  relics  were  brought 
to  light  was  wonderful !  If  Washington  only  had  an  army 
one-tenth  as  strong  as  these  patriots  make  it  out  to  be,  he 
would  have  driven  the  British  from  the  country  years 
sooner  than  it  was  actually  done.  Luckily,  my  grand- 
father did  serve  a  short  tour  of  duty  in  that  war  :  and  my 
own  father  was  a  captain  of  militia  in  1814,  lymg  out  on 
Harlem  Heights  and  Harlem  Common,  most  of  the  fall  ; 
when  and  where  he  caught  the  rheumatism.  This  was  no 
bad  capital  to  start  upon  :  and,  though  you  treat  it  lightly, 
squire,  I'm  a  favorite  in  the  county — I  am!" 

"  Nobody  doubts  it,  Timms  ;  or  can  doubt  it,  if  he  knew 
the  history  of  these  matters.  Let  me  see — I  believe  I  first 
heard  of  you  as  a  temperance  lecturer  ? " 

"  Excuse  me,  I  began  with  the  Common  Schools,  on 
which  I  lectured  with  some  success,  one  whole  season. 
Then  came  the  temperance  cause,  out  of  which,  I  will  own, 
not  a  little  capital  was  made." 

"  And  do  you  stop  there,  Timms  ;  or  do  you  ride  some 
other  hobby  into  power  ?  " 

"  It's  my  way,  Mr.  Dunscomb,  to  try  all  sorts  of  med'- 
cines.  Some  folks  that  wun't  touch  rhubarb  will  swallow 
salts  ;  and  all  palates  must  be  satisfied.  Free  Sile  and 
Emancipation  Doctrines  are  coming  greatly  into  favor  ; 
but  they  are  ticklish  things,  that  cut  like  a  two-edged 
sword,  and  I  do  not  fancy  meddling  with  them.  There 
are  about  as  many  opposed  to  meddling  with  slavery  in 
the  free  States,  as  there  are  in  favor  of  it.  I  wish  I  knew 
your  sentiments,  Squire  Dunscomb,  on  this  subject.  I've 
always  found  your  doctrines  touching  the  constitution  to 
be  sound,  and  such  as  would  stand  examination." 

"The  constitutional  part  of  the  question  is  very  simple, 
and  presents  no  difficulties  whatever,"  returned  the  coun- 
sellor, squinting  through  the  ruby  of  his  glass,  with  an 
old-bachelor  sort  of  delight,  "  except  for  those  who  have 
special  ends  to  obtain," 


THE   WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  147 

"  Has,  or  has  not,  Congress  a  legal  right  to  enact  laws 
preventing  the  admission  of  slaves  into  California?" 

"  Congress  has  the  legal  right  to  govern  any  of  its  terri- 
tories despotically  ;  of  course,  to  admit  or  to  receive  what 
it  inay  please  within  their  limits.  The  resident  of  a  terri- 
tory is  not  a  citizen,  and  has  no  legal  claim  to  be  so  con- 
sidered. California,  as  a  conquered  territory,  may  be  thus 
governed  by  the  laws  of  nations,  unless  the  treaty  of 
cession  places  some  restrictions  on  the  authority  of  the 
conqueror.  A  great  deal  of  absurdity  is  afloat  among 
those  who  should  know  better,  touching  the  powers  of 
government  in  this  country.  You,  yourself,  are  one  of 
those  fellows,  Timms,  who  get  things  upside-down,  and 
fancy  the  constitution  is  to  be  looked  into  for  everything." 

"  And  is  it  not,  squire  ? — that  is,  in  the  way  of  theory — 
in  practice,  I  know  it  is  a  very  different  matter.  Are  we 
not  to  look  into  the  constitution  for  all  the  powers  of  the 
government?" 

"  Of  the  government,  perhaps,  in  one  sense — but  not  for 
those  of  the  nation.  Whence  come  the  powers  to  make 
war  and  peace,  to  form  treaties  and  alliances,  maintain 
armies  and  navies,  coin  money,  etc.  ?" 

"  You'll  find  them  all  in  the  constitution,  as  I  read  it, 
sir." 

"There  is  just  your  mistake  ;  and  connected  with  it  are 
most  of  the  errors  that  are  floating  about  in  our  political 
world.  The  country  gets  its  legal  right  to  do  all  these 
things  from  the  laws  of  nations  ;  the  constitution  mere- 
ly saying  'who  shall  be  its  agents  in  the  exercise  of 
these  powers.  Thus  war  is  rendered  legal  by  the  custom 
of  nations ;  and  the  constitution  says  Congress  shall  de- 
clare war.  It  also  says  Congress  shall  pass  all  laws  that 
become  necessary  to  carry  out  this  power.  It  follows, 
Congress  may  pass  any  law  that  has  a  legitimate  aim  to 
secure  a  conquest.  Nor  is  this  all  the  functionaries  of  the 
government  can  do,  on  general  principles,  in  the  absence 
of  any  special  provisions  by  a  direct  law.  The  latter 
merely  supersedes  or  directs  the  power  of  the  former.  The 
constitution  guarantees  nothing  to  the  territories.  They 
are  strictly  subject,  and  may  be  governed  absolutely.  The 
only  protection  of  their  people  is  in  the  sympathy  and 
habits  of  the  people  of  the  States.  We  give  them  political 
liberty,  not  as  of  legal  necessity,  but  as  a  boon  to  which 
they  are  entitled  in  good-fellowship— or  as  the  father  pro- 
vides for  his  children." 


14 8  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

t;  Then  you  think  Congress  has  power  to  exclude  slavery 
from  California  ? " 

"  I  can't  imagine  a  greater  legal  absurdity  than  to  deny 
it.  I  see  no  use  in  any  legislation  on  the  subject,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  practice,  since  California  will  shortly  decide  on  this 
interest  for  herself  ;  but,  as  a  right  in  theory,  it  strikes  me 
to  be  madness  to  deny  that  the  government  of  the  United 
States  has  full  power  over  all  its  territories,  both  on  gen- 
eral principles  and  under  the  constitution." 

"And  in  the  Deestrict — you  hold  to  the  same  power  in 
the  Deestrict?" 

"  Beyond  a  question.  Congress  can  abolish  domestic 
servitude  or  slavery  in  the  District  of  Columbia  whenever 
it  shall  see  fit.  The  right  is  as  clear  as  the  sun  at  noon- 
day." 

"  If  these  are  your  opinions,  Squire,  I'll  go  for  Free  Sile 
and  Abolition  in  the  Deestrict.  They  have  a  popular  cry, 
and  take  wonderfully  well  in  Dukes,  and  will  build  me  up 
considerable.  I  like  to  be  right ;  but,  most  of  all,  I  like  to 
be  strong." 

"  If  you  adopt  such  a  course,  you  will  espouse  trouble 
without  any  dower,  and  that  will  be  worse  than  McBrain's 
three  wives  ;  and,  what  is  more,  in  the  instance  of  the  Dis- 
trict, you  will  be  guilty  of  an  act  of  oppression.  You  will 
remember  that  the  possession  of  a  legal  power  to  do  a  par- 
ticular thing,  does  not  infer  a  moral  right  to  exercise  it. 
As  respects  your  Free  Soil,  it  may  be  well  to  put  down  a 
foot  ;  and,  so  far  as  votes  legally  used  can  be  thrown,  to 
prevent  the  further  extension  of  slavery.  In  this  respect  you 
are  right  enough,  and  will  be  sustained  by  an  overwhelm- 
ing majority  of  the  nation  ;  but,  when  it  comes  to  the  Dis- 
trict, the  question  has  several  sides  to  it." 

"You  said  yourself,  Squire,  that  Congress  has  all  power 
to  legislate  for  the  Deestrict?" 

"  No  doubt  it  has— but  the  possession  of  a  power  does 
not  necessarily  imply  its  use.  We  have  power,  as  a  nation, 
to  make  war  on  little  Portugal,  and  crush  her  ;  but  it  would 
be  very  wicked  to  do  so.  When  a  member  of  Congress 
votes  on  any  question  that  strictly  applies  to  the  District, 
he  should  reason  precisely  as  if  his  constituents  all  lived 
in  the  District  itself.  You  will  understand,  Timms,  that 
liberty  is  closely  connected  with  practice,  and  is  not  a  mere 
creature  of  phrases  and  professions.  What  more  intoler- 
able tyranny  could  exist  than  to  have  a  man  elected  by 
New  Yorkers  legislating  for  the  District  on  strictly 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  149 

York  policy;  or,  if  you  will,  on  New  York  prejudices  ?  If 
the  people  of  the  District  wish  to  get  rid  of  the  institution 
of  domestic  slavery,  there  are  ways  for  ascertaining  the 
fact ;  and  once  assured  of  that,  Congress  ought  to  give  the 
required  relief.  But  in  framing  such  a  law,  great  care 
should  be  taken  not  to  violate  the  comity  of  the  Union. 
The  comity  of  nations  is,  in  practice,  a  portion  of  their 
laws,  and  is  respected  as  such  ;  how  much  more,  then, 
ought  we  to  respect  this  comity  in  managing  the  relations 
between  the  several  States  of  this  Union  ! " 

"Yes,  the  sovereign  States  of  the  Union,"  laying  em- 
phasis on  the  word  we  have  italicized. 

"  Pshaw — they  are  no  more  sovereign  than  you  and  I 
are  sovereign." 

"  Not  sovereign,  sir  !  "  exclaimed  Timms,  actually  jump- 
ing to  his  feet  in  astonishment ;  "why  this  is  against  the 
National  Faith — contrary  to  all  the  theories." 

"  Something  so,  I  must  confess  ;  yet  very  good  common 
sense.  If  there  be  any  sovereignty  left  in  the  States,  it  is 
the  very  minimum,  and  a  thing  of  show,  rather  than  of 
substance.  If  you  will  look  at  the  constitution,  you  will 
find  that  the  equal  representation  of  the  States  in  the 
Senate  is  the  only  right  of  a  sovereign  character  that  is 
left  to  the  members  of  the  Union  separate  and  apart  from 
their  confederated  communities." 

Timms  rubbed  his  brows,  and  seemed  to  be  in  some 
mental  trouble.  The  doctrine  of  the  "  Sovereign  States  " 
is  so  very  common,  so  familiar  in  men's  mouths,  that  no 
one  dreams  of  disputing  it.  Nevertheless,  Dunscomb  had  a 
great  reputation  in  his  set  as  a  constitutional  lawyer,  and 
the  "expounders"  were  very  apt  to  steal  his  demonstra- 
tions, without  giving  him  credit  for  them.  As  before  the 
nation,  a  school-boy  would  have  carried  equal  weight  ; 
but  the  direct,  vigorous,  common-sense  arguments  that  he 
brought  to  the  discussions,  as  well  as  the  originality  of  his 
views,  ever  commanded  the  profound  respect  of  the  intel- 
ligent. Timms  had  cut  out  for  himself  a  path  by  which 
he  intended  to  ascend  in  the  scale  of  society  ;  and  had  in- 
dustriously, if  not  very  profoundly,  considered  all  the  agi- 
tating questions  of  the  day,  in  the  relations  they  might  be 
supposed  to  bear  to  his  especial  interests.  He  had  al- 
most determined  to  come  out  an  abolitionist ;  for  he  saw 
that  the  prejudices  of  the  hour  were  daily  inclining  the 
electors  of  the  Northern  States,  more  and  more,  to  oppose 
the  further  extension  of  domestic  slavery,  so  far  as  sur* 


ISO  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

face  was  concerned,  which  was  in  effect  preparing  the  way 
for  the  final  destruction  of  the  institution  altogether.  For 
Mr.  Dunscomb,  however,  this  wily  limb  of  the  law,  and 
skilful  manager  of  men,  had  the  most  profound  respect; 
and  he  was  very  glad  to  draw  him  out  still  further  on  a 
subject  that  was  getting  to  be  of  such  intense  interest  to 
himself,  as  well  as  to  the  nation  at  large  ;  for,  out  of  all 
doubt,  it  is  the  question,  not  only  of  the  "  Hour,"  but  for 
years  to  come. 

"Well,  sir,  this  surprises  me  more  and  more.  The 
States  not  sovereign  !  Why,  they  gave  all  the  power  it  pos- 
sesses to  the  Federal  Government ! " 

"Very  true  ;  and  it  is  precisely  for  that  reason  they  are 
not  sovereign — that  which  is  given  away  is  no  longer  pos- 
sessed. All  the  great  powers  of  sovereignty  are  directly 
bestowed  on  the  Union,  which  alone  possesses  them." 

"I  will  grant  you  that,  squire  ;  but  enough  is  retained 
to  hang  either  of  us.  The  deuce  is  in  it  if  that  be  not  a 
sovereign  power." 

"  It  does  not  follow  from  the  instance  cited.  Send  a 
squadron  abroad,  and  its  officers  can  hang  ;  but  they  are 
not  sovereign,  for  the  simple  reason  that  there  is  a  recog- 
nized authority  over  them,  which  can  increase,  sustain,  or 
take  away  altogether  any  such  and  all  other  powyer.  Thus 
is  it  with  the  States.  By  a  particular  clause,  the  constitu- 
tion can  be  amended,  including  all  the  interests  involved, 
with  a  single  exception.  This  is  an  instance  in  which  the 
exception  does  strictly  prove  the  rule.  All  interests  but 
the  one  excepted  can'  be  dealt  with,  by  a  species  of  legis- 
lation that  is  higher  than  common.  The  Union  can  con- 
stitutionally abolish  domestic  slavery  altogether — 

"  It  can  !  It  would  be  the  making  of  any  political  man's 
fortune  to  be  able  to  show ///«//" 

"Nothing  is  easier  than  to  show  it,  in  the  way  of  the- 
ory, Timms  ;  though  nothing  would  be  harder  to  achieve, 
in  the  way  of  practice.  The  constitution  can  be  legally 
amended  so  as  to  effect  this  end,  provided  majorities  in 
three-fourths  of  the  States  can  be  obtained,  though  every 
living  soul  in  the  remaining  States  were  opposed  to  it. 
That  this  is  the  just  construction  of  the  great  fundamental 
law,  as  it  has  been  solemnly  adopted,  no  discreet  man  can 
doubt ;  though,  on  the  other  hand,  no  discreet  person 
would  think  of  attempting  such  a  measure,  as  the  vote 
necessary  to  success  cannot  be  obtained.  To  talk  of  the 
sovereignty  of  a  community  over  this  particular  Interest, 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  151 

for  instance,  when  all  the  authority  on  the  subject  can  be 
taken  from  it  in  direct  opposition  to  the  wishes  of  every 
man,  woman  and  child  it  contains,  is  an  absurdity.  The 
sovereignty,  as  respects  slavery,  is  in  the  Union,  and  not 
in  the  several  States  ;  and  therein  you  can  see  the  fallacy 
of  contending  that  Congress  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
interest,  when  Congress  can  take  the  initiative  in  altering 
this  or  any  other  clause  of  the  great  national  compact." 

"  But,  the  Deestrict — the  Deestrict,  Squire  Dunscomb 
—what  can  and  ought  to  be  done  there  ? " 

"  I  believe  in  my  soul,  Timms,  you  have  an  aim  on  a 
seat  in  Congress  !  Why  stop  short  of  the  Presidency  ? 
Men  as  little  likely  as  yourself  to  be  elevated  to  that  high 
office  have  been  placed  in  the  executive  chair  ;  and  why 
not  you  as  well  as  another  ?  " 

"  It  is  an  office  *  neither  to  be  sought  nor  declined,' 
said  an  eminent  statesman,"  answered  Timms,  with  a  seri- 
ousness that  amused  his  companion,  who  saw,  by  his  man- 
ner, that  his  old  pupil  held  himself  in  reserve  for  accidents 
of  political  life.  "  But,  sir,  I  am  very  anxious  to  get  right 
on  the  subject  of  the  Deestrict" — Timms  pronounced  this 
word  as  we  have  spelt  it — "  and  I  know  that  if  any  man 
can  set  me  right,  it  is  yourself." 

"  As  respects  the  District,  Mr.  Timms,  here  is  my  faith. 
It  is  a  territory  provided  for  in  the  constitution  for  a 
national  purpose,  and  must  be  regarded  as  strictly  national 
property,  held  exclusively  for  objects  that  call  all  classes  of 
citizens  within  its  borders.  Now  two  great  principles,  in 
my  view,  should  control  all  legislation  for  this  little  com- 
munity. As  I  have  said  already,  it  would  be  tyranny  to 
make  the  notions  and  policy  of  New  York  or  Vermont 
bear  on  the  legislation  of  the  District ;  but  every  member 
is  bound  to  act  strictly  as  a  representative  of  the  people 
of  the  spot  for  whom  the  law  is  intended.  If  I  were  in 
Congress,  I  would  at  any  time,  on  a  respectable  applica- 
tion, vote  to  refer  the  question  of  abolition  to  the  people 
of  the  District ;  if  they  said  ay,  I  would  say  ay  ;  if  no,  no. 
Beyond  this  I  would  never  go ;  nor  do  I  think  the  man 
who  wishes  to  push  matters  beyond  this,  sufficiently  re- 
spects the  general  principles  of  representative  govern- 
ment, or  knows  how  to  respect  the  spirit  of  the  national 
compact.  On  the  supposition  that  the  District  ask  relief 
from  the  institution  of  slavery,  great  care  should  be  ob- 
served in  granting  the  necessary  legislation.  Although 
the  man  in  South  Carolina  has  no  more  right  to  insist 


152  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

that  the  District  should  maintain  the  '  peculiar  institu* 
tion,'  because  his  particular  State  maintains  it,  than  the 
Vermontese  to  insist  on  carrying  his  Green  Mountain  no- 
tions into  the  District  laws  ;  yet  has  the  Carolinian  rights 
in  this  territory  that  must  ever  be  respected,  let  the  gen- 
eral policy  adopted  be  what  it  may.  Every  American  has 
an  implied  right  to  visit  the  District  on  terms  of  equality. 
Now  there  would  be  no  equality  if  a  law  were  passed  ex- 
cluding the  domestics  from  any  portion  of  the  country. 
In  the  slave  States,  slaves  exclusively  perform  the  func- 
tions of  domestics  ;  and  sweeping  abolition  might  very 
easily  introduce  regulations  that  would  be  unjust  toward 
the  slave-holders.  As  respects  the  Northern  man,  the  ex- 
istence of  slavery  in  or  out  of  the  District  is  purely  a  spec- 
ulative question  ;  but  it  is  not  so  with  the  Southern.  This 
should  never  be  forgotten  ;  and  I  always  feel  disgust  when 
I  hear  a  Northern  man  swagger  and  make  a  parade  of  his 
morality  on  this  subject." 

"  But  the  Southern  men  swagger  and  make  a  parade  of 
their  chivalry,  squire,  on  the  other  hand  !  " 

"Quite  true  ;  but,  with  them,  there  is  a  strong  provoca- 
tion. It  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death  to  the  South  ;  and 
the  comity  of  which  I  spoke  requires  great  moderation  on 
our  part.  As  for  the  threats  of  dissolution,  of  which  we 
have  had  so  many,  like  the  cry  of  *  Wolf,'  they  have  worn 
themselves  out  and  are  treated  with  indifference." 

"  The  threat  is  still  used,  Mr.  Dunscomb  !  " 

"  Beyond  a  doubt,  Timms  ;  but  of  one  thing  you  may 
rest  well  assured — if  ever  there  be  a  separation  between 
the  free  and  the  slave  States  of  this  Union,  the  wedge  will 
be  driven  home  by  Northern  hands  ;  not  by  indirection, 
but  coolly,  steadily,  and  with  a  thorough  Northern  deter- 
mination to  open  the  seam.  There  will  be  no  fuss  about 
chivalry,  but  the  thing  will  be  done.  I  regard  the  meas- 
ure as  very  unlikely  to  happen,  the  Mississippi  and  its 
tributaries  binding  the  States  together,  to  say  nothing  of  an- 
cestry, history,  and  moral  ties,  in  away  to  render  a  rupture 
very  difficult  to  effect  ;  but,  should  it  come  at  all,  rely  on 
it,  it  will  come  directly  from  the  North.  I  am  sorry  to 
say  there  is  an  impatience  of  the  threats  and  expedients 
that  have  so  much  disfigured  Southern  policy,  that  have 
set  many  at  the  North  to  '  calculating  the  value  ;'  and 
thousands  may  now  be  found,  where  ten  years  since  it 
would  not  have  been  easy  to  meet  with  one,  who  deem 
separation  better  than  union  with  slavery.  Still,  the 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  153 

general  feeling  of  the  North  is  passive  ;  and  I  trust  it  will 
so  continue." 

"  Look  at  the  laws  for  the  recovery  of  fugitives,  squire, 
and  the  manner  in  which  they  are  administered." 

"  Bad  enough,  I  grant  you,  and  full  of  a  want  of  good 
faith.  Go  to  the  bottom  of  this  subject,  Timms,  or  let  it 
alone  altogether.  Some  men  will  tell  you  that  slavery  is 
a  sin,  and  contrary  to  revealed  religion.  This  I  hold  to  be 
quite  untrue.  At  all  events,  if  it  be  a  sin  it  is  a  sin  to  give 
the  son  the  rich  inheritance  of  the  father,  instead  of  divid- 
ing it  among  the  poor;  to  eat  a  dinner  while  a  hungrier  man 
than  yourself  is  within  sound  of  your  voice  ;  or,  indeed,  to 
do  anything  that  is  necessary  and  agreeable,  when  the  act 
may  be  still  more  necessary  to,  or  confer  greater  pleasure 
on,  another.  I  believe  in  a  Providence,  and  I  make  little 
doubt  that  African  slavery  is  an  important  feature  in  God's 
laws,  instead  of  being  disobedience  to  them.  But  enough 
of  this,  Timms — you  will  court  popularity,  which  is  your 
Archimedean  lever,  and  forget  all  I  tell  you.  Is  Mary 
Monson  in  greater  favor  now  than  when  I  last  saw  you  ? " 

"  The  question  is  not  easily  answered,  sir.  She  pays 
well,  and  money  is  a  powerful  screw  ! " 

"  I  do  not  inquire  what  you  do  with  her  money,"  said 
Dunscomb,  with  the  evasion  of  a  man  who  knew  that  it 
would  not  do  to  probe  every  weak  spot  in  morals,  any 
more  than  it  would  do  to  inflame  the  diseases  of  the  body  ; 
"  but,  I  own,  I  should  like  to  know  if  our  client  lias  any 
suspicions  of  its  uses  ?  " 

Timms  now  cast  a  furtive  glance  behind  him,  and  edged 
his  chair  nearer  to  his  companion,  in  a  confidential  way,  as 
if  he  would  trust  htm  with  a  private  opinion,  that  he  should 
keep  religiously  from  all  others. 

"  Not  only  does  she  know  all  about  it,"  he  answered, 
with  a  knowing  inclination  of  the  head,  "  but  she  enters 
into  the  affair,  heart  and  hand.  To  my  great  surprise,  she 
has  even  made  two  or  three  suggestions  that  were  capital 
in  their  'way  !  Capital  !  yes,  sir ;  quite  capital  !  If  you 
were  not  so  stiff  in  your  practice,  squire,  I  should  delight 
to  tell  you  all  about  it.  She's  sharp,  you  may  depend  on 
it  !  She's  wonderfully  sharp  !  " 

"  What !  That  refined,  lady-like,  accomplished  young 
woman  !  " 

"  She  has  an  accomplishment  or  two  you've  never 
dreamed  of,  squire.  I'd  pit  her  ag'in  the  sharpest  practi- 
tioner in  Dukes,  and  she'd  come  out  ahead.  I  thought  J 


154  THE   WAYS    OF   THE  HOUR. 

knew  something  of  preparing  a  cause  ;  but  she  has  given 
hints  that  will  be  worth  more  to  me  than  all  her  fees  !  " 

"  You  do  not  mean  that  she  shows  experience  in  such 
practices  ? " 

"  Perhaps  not.  It  seems  more  like  mother-wit,  I 
acknowledge  ;  but  it's  mother-wit  of  the  brightest  sort. 
She  understands  them  reporters  by  instinct,  as  it  might 
be.  What  is  more,  she  backs  all  her  suggestions  with 
gold,  or  current  bank-notes." 

"  And  where  can  she  get  so  much  money  ? " 

"  That  is  more  than  I  can  tell  you,"  returned  Timms, 
opening  some  papers  belonging  to  the  case,  and  laying 
them  a  little  formally  before  the  senior  counsel,  to  invite 
his  particular  attention.  "  I've  never  thought  it  advisable 
to  ask  the  question." 

"  Timms,  you  do  not,  cannot  think  Mary  Monson  guilty  ?" 

"  I  never  go  beyond  the  necessary  facts  of  a  case  ;  and 
my  opinion  is  of  no  consequence  whatever.  We  are  em- 
ployed to  defend  her ;  and  the  counsel  for  the  State  are 
not  about  to  get  a  verdict  without  working  some  for  it. 
That's  my  conscience  in  these  matters,  Squire  Dunscomb." 

Dunscomb asked  no  more  questions.  Returned  gloomi- 
ly to  the  papers,  shoved  his  glass  aside,  as  if  it  gave  him 
pleasure  no  longer,  and  began  to  read.  For  near  four 
hours  he  and  Timms  were  earnestly  engaged  in  preparing 
a  brief,  and  in  otherwise  getting  the  cause  ready  for  trial. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

Hel.   Oh,  that  my  prayers  could  such  affection  move, 
Her.  The  more  I  hate,  the  more  he  follows  me. 
Hel.   The  more  I  love,  the  more  he  hateth  me. 
Her.   His  folly,  Helena,  is  no  fault  of  mine. 

— Midsummer  Nigh? 8  Dream. 

WHILE  Dunscomb  and  Timms  were  thus  employed,  the 
younger  members  of  the  party  very  naturally  sought  modes 
of  entertainment  that  were  more  in  conformity  with  their 
tastes  and  years.  John  Wilmeter  had  been  invited  to  be 
present  at  the  consultation  ;  but  his  old  feelings  were  re- 
vived, and  he  found  a  pleasure  in  being  with  Anna  that  in- 
duced him  to  disregard  the  request.  His  sister  and  his 
friend  were  now  betrothed,  and  they  had  glided  off  along 
one  of  the  pretty  paths  of  the  Rattletrap  woods,  in  a  way 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  155 

that  is  so  very  common  to  persons  in  their  situation.  This 
left  Jack  alone  with  Anna.  The  latter  was  timid,  shy  even; 
while  the  former  was  thoughtful.  Still,  it  was  not  easy  to 
separate  ;  and  they,  too,  almost  unconsciously  to  them- 
selves, were  soon  walking  in  that  pleasant  wood,  following 
one  of  its  broadest  and  most  frequented  paths,  however. 

John,  naturally  enough,  imputed  the  thoughtfulness  of 
his  companion  to  the  event  of  the  morning;  and  he  spoke 
kindly  to  her,  and  with  a  gentle  delicacy  on  the  subject, 
that  more  than  once  compelled  the  warm-hearted  girl  to 
struggle  against  her  tears.  After  he  had  said  enough  on 
this  topic,  the  young  man  followed  the  current  of  his  own 
thoughts,  and  spoke  of  her  he  had  left  in  the  jail  of  Biberry. 

"  Her  case  is  most  extraordinary,"  continued  John,  "  and 
it  has  excited  our  liveliest  sympathy.  By  ours,  I  mean  the 
disinterested  and  intelligent ;  for  the  vulgar  prejudice  is 
strong  against  her.  Sarah,  or  even  yourself,  Anna," — his 
companion  looked  more  like  herself,  at  this  implied  com- 
pliment, than  she  had  done  before  that  day — "could  not 
seem  less  likely  to  be  guilty  of  anything  wrong,  than  this 
Miss  Monson  ;  yet  she  stands  indicted,  and  is  to  be  tried 
for  murder  and  arson  !  To  me,  it  seems  monstrous  to  sus- 
pect such  a  person  of  crimes  so  heinous." 

Anna  remained  silent  half  a  minute  ;  for  she  had  suffi- 
cient good  sense  to  know  that  appearances,  unless  connect- 
ed with  facts,  ought  to  have  no  great  weight  in  forming 
an  opinion  of  guilt  or  innocence.  As  Jack  evidently  ex- 
pected an  answer,  however,  his  companion  made  an  effort 
to  speak. 

"  Does  she  say  nothing  of  her  friends,  nor  express  a  wish 
to  have  them  informed  of  her  situation  ?  "  Anna  succeeded 
in  asking. 

"  Not  a  syllable.  I  could  not  speak  to  her  on  the  sub- 
ject, you  know " 

"Why  not  ?"  demanded  Anna,  quickly. 

"  Why  not  ?  You've  no  notion,  Anna,  of  the  kind  of  per- 
son this  Miss  Monson  is.  You  cannot  talk  to  her  as  you 
would  to  an  every-day  sort  of  young  lady  ;  and,  now  she  is 
in  such  distress,  one  is  naturally  more  cautious  about  say- 
ing anything  to  add  to  her  sorrow." 

"  Yes,  I  can  understand  that"  returned  the  generous- 
minded  girl ;  "and  I  think  you  are  very  right  to  remember 
all  this,  on  every  occasion.  Still,  it  is  so  natural  for  a  fe- 
male to  lean  on  her  friends,  in  every  great  emergency,  I 
cannot  but  wonder  that  your  client •" 


156  THE   IV AYS    OF   THE  HOUR. 

11  Don't  call  her  my  client,  Anna,  I  beg  of  you.  I  hate 
the  word  as  applied  to  this  lady.  If  I  serve  her  in  any  de- 
gree, it  is  solely  as  a  friend.  The  same  feeling  prevails 
with  Uncle  Tom  ;  for  I  understand  he  has  not  received  a 
cent  of  Miss  Monson's  money,  though  she  is  liberal  of  it  to 
profuseness.  Timms  is  actually  getting  rich  on  it." 

"  Is  it  usual  for  you  gentlemen  of  the  bar  to  give  your 
services  gratuitously  to  those  who  can  pay  for  them  ?  " 

"  As  far  from  it  as  possible,"  returned  Jack,  laughing 
"  We  look  to  the  main  chance  like  so  many  merchants  or 
brokers,  and  seldom  open  our  mouths  without  shutting 
our  hearts.  But  this  is  a  case  altogether  out  of  the  com- 
mon rule  ;  and  Mr.  Dunscomb  works  for  love,  and  not  for 
money." 

Had  Anna  cared  less  for  John  Wilmeter,  she  might  have 
said  something  clever  about  the  nephew's  being  in  the 
same  category  as  the  uncle  ;  but  her  feelings  were  too 
deeply  interested  to  suffer  her  even  to  think  what  would 
seem  to  her  profane.  After  a  moment's  pause,  therefore, 
she  quietly  said  : 

"  I  believe  you  have  intimated  that  Mr.  Timms  is  not 
quite  so  disinterested?" 

"  Not  he — Miss  Monson  has  given  him  fees  amounting 
to  a  thousand  dollars,  by  his  own  admission  ;  and  the  fel- 
low has  had  the  conscience  to  take  the  money.  I  have  re- 
monstrated about  his  fleecing  a  friendless  woman  in  this 
extravagant  manner  ;  but  he  laughs  in  my  face  for  my 
pains.  Timms  has  good  points,  but  honesty  is  not  one  of 
them.  He  says  no  woman  can  be  friendless  who  has  a 
pretty  face,  and  a  pocket  full  of  money  " 

"  You  can  hardly  call  a  person  unfriended  who  has  so 
much  money  at  command,  John,"  Anna  answered  with 
timidity  ;  but  not  without  manifest  interest  in  the  subject. 
11  A  thousand  dollars  sounds  like  a  large  sum  to  me  !  " 

"  It  is  a  good  deal  of  money  for  a  fee  ;  though  much 
more  is  sometimes  given.  I  dare  say  Miss  Monson  would 
have  gladly  given  the  same  to  Uncle  Tom,  if  he  would 
have  taken  it.  Timms  told  me  that  she  proposed  offering 
as  much  to  him  ;  but  he  persuaded  her  to  wait  until  the 
trial  was  over." 

"And  where  does  all  this  money  come  from,  John  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  do  not  know — I  am  not  at  all  in  Miss  Mon- 
son's confidence  ;  on  her  pecuniary  affairs,  at  least.  She 
does  honor  me  so  much  as  to  consult  me  about  her  trial  oc- 
casionally, it  is  true  ;  but  to  me  she  has  never  alluded  ta 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  157 

money,  except  to  ask  me  to  obtain  change  for  large  notes. 
I  do  not  see  anything  so  very  wonderful  in  a  lady's  having 
money.  You,  who  are  a  sort  of  heiress,  yourself,  ought  to 
know  that." 

"  I  do  not  get  money  in  thousands,  I  can  assure  you, 
Jack  ;  nor  do  I  think  that  I  have  it  to  get.  I  believe  my 
whole  income  would  not  much  more  than  meet  the  ex- 
penditure of  this  strange  woman — 

"  Do  not  call  her  woman,  Anna  ;  it  pains  me  to  hear  you 
speak  of  her  in  such  terms." 

"  I  beg  her  pardon  and  yours,  Jack  ;  but  I  meant  no  dis- 
respect. We  are  all  women." 

"  I  know  it  is  foolish  to  feel  nervous  on  such  a  subject  ; 
but  I  cannot  help  it.  One  connects  so  many  ideas  of  vul- 
garity and  crime  with  prisons,  and  indictments,  and  trials, 
that  we  are  apt  to  suppose  all  who  are  accused  to  belong 
to  the  commoner  classes.  Such  is  not  the  fact  with  Miss 
Monson,  I  can  assure  you.  Not  even  Sarah — nay,  not 
even  yourself,  my  dear  Anna,  can  pretend  to  more  decided 
marks  of  refinement  and  education.  I  do  not  know  a  more 
distinguished  young  woman — 

"  There,  Jack  ;  now  you  call  her  a  woman  yourself,"  in- 
terrupted Anna,  a  little  archly ;  secretly  delighted  at  the 
compliment  she  had  just  heard. 

"  Young  woman — anybody  can  say  that,  you  know,  with- 
out implying  anything  common  or  vulgar  ,  and  woman,  too, 
sometimes.  I  do  not  know  how  it  was  ;  but  I  did  not  ex- 
actly like  the  word  as  you  happened  to  use  it.  I  believe 
close  and  long  watching  is  making  me  nervous  ;  and  I  am 
not  quite  as  much  myself  as  usual." 

Anna  gave  a  very  soft  sigh,  and  that  seemed  to  afford  her 
relief,  though  it  was  scarcely  audible  ;  then  she  continued 
the  subject. 

"  How  old  is  this  extraordinary  young  lady?"  she  de- 
manded, scarcely  speaking  loud  enough  to  be  heard. 

"  Old  !  How  can  I  tell  ?  She  is  very  youthful  in  ap- 
pearance ;  but,  from  the  circumstance  of  her  having  so 
much  money  at  command,  I  take  it  for  granted  she  is  of 
age.  The  law  now  gives  to  every  woman  the  full  com- 
mand of  all  her  property,  even  though  married,  after  she 
become  of  age." 

"Which  I  trust  you  find  a  very  proper  attention  to  the 
rights  of  our  sex  ?  " 

"  I  care  very  little  about  it  ;  though  Uncle  Tom  says  it 
is  of  a  piece  with  all  our  late  New  York  legislation," 


158  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

"Mr.  Dunscomb,  like  most  elderly  persons,  has  little 
taste  for  change ." 

"  It  is  not  that.  He  thinks  that  minds  of  an  ordinary 
stamp  are  running  away  with  the  conceit  that  they  are  on 
the  road  of  progress  ;  and  that  most  of  our  recent  improve- 
ments, as  they  are  called,  are  marked  by  empiricism.  This 
*  tea-cup  law,'  as  he  terms  it,  will  set  the  women  above  their 
husbands,  and  create  two  sets  of  interests  where  there 
ought  to  be  but  one." 

**  Yes  ;  I  am  aware  such  is  his  opinion.  He  remarked, 
the  day  he  brought  home  my  mother's  settlement  for  the 
signatures,  that  it  was  the  most  ticklish  part  of  his  profes- 
sion to  prepare  such  papers.  I  remember  one  of  his  ob- 
servations, which  struck  me  as  being  very  just." 

"Which  you  mean  to  repeat  to  me,  Anna  ?" 

"  Certainly,  John,  if  you  wish  to  hear  it,"  returned  a  gen- 
tle voice,  coming  from  one  unaccustomed  to  refuse  any  of 
the  reasonable  requests  of  this  particular  applicant.  "  The 
remark  of  Mr.  Dunscomb  was  this  :  He  said  that  most 
family  misunderstandings  grew  out  of  money  ;  and  he 
thought  it  unwise  to  set  it  up  as  a  bone  of  contention  be- 
tween man  and  wife.  Where  there  was  so  close  a  union 
in  all  other  matters,  he  thought  there  might  safely  be  a 
community  of  interests  in  this  respect.  He  saw  no  suffi- 
cient reason  for  altering  the  old  law,  which  had  the  great 
merit  of  having  been  tried." 

"  He  could  hardly  persuade  rich  fathers,  and  vigilant 
guardians,  who  have  the  interests  of  heiresses  to  look  after, 
to  subscribe  to  all  his  notions.  They  say  that  it  is  better 
to  make  a  provision  against  imprudence  and  misfortune, 
by  settling  a  woman's  fortune  on  herself,  in  a  country 
where  speculation  tempts  so  many  to  their  ruin." 

"  I  do  not  object  to  anything  that  may  have  an  eye  to 
an  evil  day,  provided  it  be  done  openly  and  honestly.  But 
the  income  should  be  common  property,  and  like  all  that 
belongs  to  a  family,  should  pass  under  the  control  of  its 
head." 

"  It  is  very  liberal  in  you  to  say  and  think  this,  Anna  !  " 

"  It  is  wbat  every  woman,  who  lias  a  true  woman's  heart, 
could  wish,  and  would  do.  For  myself,  I  would  marry  no 
man  whom  I  did  not  respect  and  look  up  to  in  most  things  ; 
and  surely,  if  I  gave  him  my  heart  and  my  hand,  I  could 
wish  to  give  him  as  much  control  over  my  means  as  cir- 
cumstances would  at  all  allow.  It  might  be  prudent  to 
provide  against  misfortune  by  means  of  settlements  ;  but 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  159 

this  much  done,  I  feel  certain  it  would  afford  me  the  great- 
est delight  to  commit  all  that  I  could  to  a  husband's  keep- 
ing." 

u  Suppose  that  husband  were  a  spendthrift,  and  wasted 
your  estate  ? " 

"  He  could  waste  but  the  income,  were  there  a  settle- 
ment  ;  and  I  would  rather  share  the  consequences  of  his 
imprudence  with  him,  than  sit  aloof  in  selfish  enjoyment 
of  that  in  which  he  did  not  partake." 

All  this  sounded  very  well  in  John's  ears  ;  and  he  knew 
Anna  Updyke  too  well  to  suppose  she  did  not  fully  mean 
all  that  she  said.  He  wondered  what  might  be  Mary  Mon- 
son's  views  on  this  subject 

"  It  is  possible  for  the  husband  to  partake  of  the  wife's 
wealth,  even  when  he  does  not  command  it,"  the  young 
man  resumed,  anxious  to  hear  what  more  Anna  might  have 
to  say. 

"  What !  as  a  dependent  on  her  bounty  ?  No  woman 
who  respects  herself  could  wish  to  see  her  husband  so  de- 
graded ;  nay,  no  female,  who  has  a  true  woman's  heart, 
would  ever  consent  to  place  the  man  to  whom  she  has 
given  her  hand,  in  so  false  a  position.  It  is  for  the  woman 
to  be  dependent  on  the  man,  and  not  the  man  on  the  woman. 
I  agree  fully  with  Mr.  Dunscomb,  when  he  says  that  '  silken 
knots  are  too  delicate  to  be  rudely  undone  by  dollars.'  The 
family  in  which  the  head  has  to  ask  the  wife  for  the  money 
that  is  to  support  it,  must  soon  go  wrong  ;  as  it  is  placing 
the  weaker  vessel  uppermost." 

"  You  would  make  a  capital  wife,  Anna,  if  these  are 
really  your  opinions  !  " 

Anna  blushed,  and  almost  repented  of  her  generous 
warmth  ;  but,  being  perfectly  sincere,  she  would  not  deny 
her  sentiments. 

"  They  ought  to  be  the  opinion  of  every  wife,"  she  an- 
swered. "  I  could  not  endure  to  see  the  man  to  whom  I 
could  wish  on  all  occasions  to  look  up,  soliciting  the  means 
on  which  we  both  subsisted.  It  would  be  my  delight,  if  I 
had  money  and  he  had  none,  to  pour  all  into  his  lap,  and 
then  come  and  ask  of  him  as  much  as  was  necessary  to  my 
comfort." 

"  If  he  had  the  soul  of  a  man  he  would  not  wait  to  be 
asked,  but  would  endeavor  to  anticipate  your  smallest 
wants.  I  believe  you  are  right,  and  that  happiness  is  best 
secured  by  confidence." 

"And   in  not  reversing  the  laws  of  nature.     Why  do 


160  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

women  vow  to  obey  and  honor  their  husbands,  if  they 
are  to  retain  them  as  dependents  ?  I  declare,  John  Wil- 
meter,  I  should  almost  despise  the  man  who  could  consent 
to  live  with  me  on  any  terms  but  those  in  which  nature, 
the  Church,  and  reason,  unite  in  telling  us  he  ought  to  be 
the  superior." 

"  Well,  Anna,  this  is  good,  old-fashioned,  womanly  senti- 
ment ;  and  I  will  confess  it  delights  me  to  hear  it  inomyou. 
I  am  the  better  pleased,  because,  as  Uncle  Tom  is  always 
complaining,  the  weakness  of  the  hour  is  to  place  your  sex 
above  ours,  and  to  reverse  all  the  ancient  rules  in  this  re- 
spect. Let  a  woman,  nowadays,  run  away  from  her  hus- 
band, and  carry  off  the  children ;  it  is  ten  to  one  but  some 
crotchety  judge,  who  thinks  more  of  a  character  built 
up  on  gossip  than  of  deferring  properly  to  that  which 
the  laws  of  God  and  the  wisdom  of  man  have  decreed,  re- 
fuse to  issue  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus  to  restore  the  issue  to 
the  father." 

"  I  do  not  know,  John," — Anna  hesitatingly  rejoined, 
with  a  true  woman's  instinct — "  it  would  be  so  hard  to  rob 
a  mother  of  her  children  !  " 

"  It  might  be  hard,  but  in  such  a  case  it  would  \SQ  just.  I 
like  that  word  *  rob,'  for  it  suits  both  parties.  To  me,  it 
seems  that  the  father  is  the  party  robbed,  when  the  wife 
not  only  steals  away  from  her  duty  to  her  husband,  but  de- 
prives him  of  his  children  too." 

"  It  is  wrong,  and  I  have  heard  Mr.  Dunscomb  express 
great  indignation  at  what  he  called  the  *  soft-soapiness '  of 
certain  judges  in  cases  of  this  nature.  Still,  John,  the 
world  is  apt  to  -think  a  woman  would  not  abandon  the 
most  sacred  of  her  duties  without  a  cause.  That  feeling 
must  be  at  the  bottom  of  what  you  call  the  decision,  I  be- 
lieve, of  these  judges." 

"If  there  be  such  a  cause  as  would  justify  a  woman  in 
deserting  her  husband,  and  in  stealing  his  children — for  it 
is  robbery  after  all,  and  robbery  of  the  worst  sort,  since  it 
involves  breaches  of  faith  of  the  most  heinous  nature — let 
that  cause  be  shown,  that  justice  may  pronounce  between 
the  parties.  Besides,  it  is  not  true  that  women  will  not 
sometimes  forget  their  duties  without  sufficient  cause. 
There  are  capricious,  and  uncertain,  and  egotistical 
women,  who  follow  their  own  wayward  inclinations,  as 
well  as  selfish  men.  Some  women  love  power  intensely, 
and  are  never  satisfied  with  simply  filling  the  place  that 
Was  intended  for  them  by  nature.  It  is  hard  for  such  to 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  .       161 

submit  to  their  husbands,  or,  indeed,  to  submit  to  any 
one." 

"It  must  be  a  strange  female,"  answered  Anna,  gently, 
"  who  cannot  suffer  the  control  of  the  man  of  her  choice, 
after  quitting  father  and  mother  for  his  sake." 

"  Different  women  have  different  sources  of  pride,  that 
make  their  husbands  very  uncomfortable,  even  when  they 
remain  with  them,  and  affect  to  discharge  their  duties. 
One  will  pride  herself  on  family,  and  take  every  occasion 
to  let  her  beloved  partner  know  how  much  better  she  is 
connected  than  he  may  happen  to  be  ;  another  is  conceited, 
and  fancies  herself  cleverer  than  her  lord  and  master,  and 
would  fain  have  him  take  her  advice  on  all  occasions  ; 
while  a  third  may  have  the  most  money,  and  delight  in 
letting  it  be  known  that  it  is  her  pocket  that  sustains  the 
household." 

"  I  did  not  know,  John,  that  you  thought  so  much  of 
these  things,"  said  Anna,  laughing ;  "  though  I  think  you 
are  very  right  in  your  opinions.  Pray,  which  of  the 
three  evils  that  you  have  mentioned  would  you  conceive 
the  greatest  ? " 

"  The  second.  I  might  stand  family  pride  ;  though 
it  is  disgusting  when  it  is  not  ridiculous.  Then  the 
money  might  be  got  along  with  for  its  own  sake,  pro- 
vided the  purse  were  in  my  hand  ;  but  I  really  do  not 
think  I  could  live  with  a  woman  who  fancied  she  knew 
the  most." 

"  But,  in  many  things,  women  ought  to,  and  do,  know 
the  most," 

"  Oh  !  as  to  accomplishments,  and  small  talk,  and  mak- 
ing preserves,  and  dancing,  and  even  poetry  and  religion 
— yes,  I  will  throw  in  religion — I  could  wish  my  wife  to  be 
clever — very  clever — as  clever  as  you  are  yourself,  Anna" 
— the  fair  listener  colored,  though  her  eyes  brightened  at 
this  unintended  but  very  direct  compliment — "yes,  yes  ; 
all  that  would  do  well  enough.  But  when  it  came  to  the 
affairs  of  men,  out-of-door  concerns,  or  politics,  or  law,  or 
anything,  indeed,  that  called  for  a  masculine  education 
anid  understanding,  I  could  not  endure  a  woman  who  fan- 
cied she  knew  the  most." 

"  I  should  think  few  wives  would  dream  of  troubling 
their  husbands  with  their  opinions  touching  the  law  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  that.  You've  no  notion,  Anna,  to  what 
a  pass  conceit  can  carry  a  person  ;  you,  who  are  so  diffi- 
dent and  shy,  and  always  so  ready  to  yield  to  those  who 
ii 


162  THE   WAYS    OF   THE  HOUR. 

ought  to  know  best.  I've  met  with  women  who,  not 
content  with  arraying  their  own  charms  in  their  own 
ways,  must  fancy  they  can  teach  us  how  to  put  on  our 
clothes,  tell  us  how  to  turn  over  a  wristband,  or  settle  a 
shirt-collar  ! " 

"This  is  not  conceit,  John,  but  good  taste,"  cried  Anna, 
now  laughing  outright,  and  appearing  herself  again.  "  It 
is  merely  female  tact  teaching  male  awkwardness  how  to 
adorn  itself.  But,  surely,  no  woman,  John,  would  bother 
herself  about  law,  let  her  love  of  domination  be  as  strong 
as  it  might." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  The  only  really  complaisant 
thing  I  ever  saw  about  this  Mary  Monson  " — a  cloud  again 
passed  athwart  the  bright  countenance  of  Anna — "was  a 
sort  of  strange  predilection  for  law.  Even  Timms  has  re- 
marked it,  and  commented  on  it  too." 

"The  poor  woman ' 

"  Do  not  use  that  word  in  speaking  of  her,  if  you  please, 
Anna." 

"Well,  lady — if  you  like  that  better 

"  No — say  young  lady — or  Miss  Monson — or  Mary,  which 
has  the  most  agreeable  sound  of  all." 

"Yet,  I  think  I  have  been  told  that  none  of  you  believe 
she  has  been  indicted  by  her  real  name." 

"  Very  true  ;  but  it  makes  no  difference.  Call  her  by  that 
she  has  assumed  ;  but  do  not  call  her  by  an  alias  as  wretched 
as  that  of  *  poor  woman.  ' ' 

"  I  meant  no  slight,  I  do  assure  you,  John  ;  for  I  feel 
almost  as  much  interest  in  Miss  Monson  as  you  do  your- 
self. It  is  not  surprising,  however,  that  one  in  her  situa- 
tion should  feel  an  interest  in  the  law." 

"  It  is  not  this  sort  of  interest  that  I  mean.  It  has  seemed 
to  me,  once  or  twice,  that  she  dealtT  with  the  difficulties  of 
her  own  case  as  if  she  took  a  pleasure  in  meeting  them — 
had  a  species  of  professional  pleasure  in  conquering  them. 
Timms  will  not  let  me  into  his  secrets,  and  I  am  glad  of  it, 
for  I  fancy  all  of  them  would  not  bear  the  light  ;  but  he 
tells  me,  honestly,  that  some  of  Miss  Monson's  suggestions 
have  been  quite  admirable  ! '' 

"  Perhaps  she  has  been  "—Anna  checked  herself  with 
the  consciousness  that  what  she  was  about  to  utter  might 
appear  to  be,  and,  what  was  of  still  greater  importance  in 
her  own  eyes,  might  really  be,  ungenerous. 

"  Perhaps  what  ?     Finish  the  sentence,  I  beg  of  you.'" 

Anna  shook  her  head. 


THE    WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  163 

"  You  intended  to  say  that  perhaps  Miss  Monson  had 
some  experience  in  the  law,  and  that  it  gave  her  a  certain 
satisfaction  to  contend  with  its  difficulties,  in  consequence 
of  previous  training.  Am  I  not  right  ?  " 

Anna  would  not  answer  in  terms  ;  but  she  gave  a  little 
nod  in  assent,  coloring  scarlet. 

"  I  knew  it  ;  and  I  will  be  frank  enough  to  own  that 
Timms  thinks  the  same  thing.  He  has  hinted  as  much  as 
that  ;  but  the  thing  is  impossible.  You  have  only  to  look 
at  her  to  see  that  such  a  thing  is  impossible." 

Anna  Updyke  thought  that  almost  anything  of  the  sort 
might  be  possible  to  a  female  who  was  in  the  circumstances 
of  the  accused  ;  this,  however,  she  would  not  say,  lest  it 
might  wound  John's  feelings,  for  which  she  had  all  the 
tenderness  of  warm  affection,  and  a  woman's  self-denial. 
Had  the  case  been  reversed,  it  is  by  no  means  probable 
that  her  impulsive  companion  would  have  manifested  the 
same  forbearance  on  her  account.  John  would  have  con- 
tended for  victory,  and  pressed  his  adversary  with  all  the 
arguments,  facts  and  reasons  he  could  muster,  on  such  an 
occasion.  Not  so  with  the  gentler  and  more  thoughtful 
young  woman  who  was  now  walking  quietly,  and  a  little 
sadly,  at  his  side,  instinct  with  all  the  gentleness,  self- 
denial,  and  warm-hearted  affection  of  her  sex. 

"  No,  it  is  worse  than  an  absurdity  " — resumed  John — 

"  it  is  cruel  to  imagine  anything  of  the  sort  of  Miss 

By  the  way,  Anna,  do  you  know  that  a  very  singular  thing 
occurred  last  evening,  before  I  drove  over  to  town,  to  be 
present  at  the  wedding.     You  know  Marie  Mill  ?" 
"  Certainly — Marie  Moulin,  you  should  say." 
"Well,  in  answering  one  of  her  mistress's  questions,  she 
said  '  out',  madame?  " 

11  What  would  you  have  her  say  ? — *  non,  madame  '  ?" 

"  But  why  madame  at  all  ?     Why  not  mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  very  vulgar  to  say  *  Yes,  miss,'  in  English." 

"To  be  sure  it  would;  but  it  is  very  different  in  French. 

One  can  say — must  say  mademoiselle  to  a  young  unmarried 

female  in  that  language  ;  though  it  be  vulgar  to  say  miss, 

without  the  name,  in  English.     French,  you  know,  Anna, 

is  a  much  more  precise  language  than  our  own ;  and  those 

who  speak  it  do  not  take  the  liberties  with  it  that  we  take 

with  the  English.    Madame  always  infers  a  married  woman  ; 

unless,  indeed,  it  be  with  a  woman  a  hundred  years  old." 

"  No  French  woman  is  ever  that,  John — but  it  is  odd  that 

Marie  Moulin,  who  so  well  understands  the  usages  of  her 


164  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

own  little  world,  shou!4  have  said  madame  to  a  demoiselle. 
Have  I  not  heard,  nevertheless,  that  Marie's  first  salu- 
tation, when  she  was  admitted  to  the  jail,  was  a  simple  ex- 
clamation of  *  mademoiselle  '  ? " 

"  That  is  very  true  ;  for  I  heard  it  myself.  What  is 
more,  that  exclamation  was  almost  as  remarkable  as  this  ; 
French  servants  always  adding  the  name  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, unless  they  are  addressing  their  own  particular 
mistresses.  Madame  and  mademoiselle  are  appropriated 
to  those  they  serve ;  while  it  is  mademoiselle  this,  or 
madame  that,  to  every  one  else." 

"And  now  she  calls  her  mademoiselle  or  madame  !  It  only 
proves  that  too  much  importance  is  not  to  be  attached  to 
Marie  Moulin's  sayings  and  doings." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  Marie  has  been  three  years  in 
this  country,  as  we  all  know.  Now  the  young  person  that 
she  left  a  mademoiselle  might  very  well  have  become  a 
madame  in  that  interval  of  time.  When  they  met,  the 
domestic  may  have  used  the  old  and  familiar  term  in  her 
surprise  ;  or  she  may  not  have  known  of  the  lady's  mar- 
riage. Afterward,  when  there  had  been  leisure  for  ex- 
planations between  them,  she  gave  her  mistress  her  proper 
appellation." 

"  Does  she  habitually  say  madame  now,  in  speaking  to 
this  singular  being  ?  " 

"Habitually  she  is  silent.  Usually  she  remains  in  the 
cell  when  any  one  is  with  Miss — or  Mrs.  Monson,  perhaps 
I  ought  to  say  " — John  used  this  last  term  with  a  strong 
expression  of  spite,  which  gave  his  companion  a  sup- 
pressed but  infinite  delight — "but  when  anyone  is  with 
the  mistress,  call  her  what  you  will,  the  maid  commonly 
remains  in  the  dungeon  or  cell.  Owing  to  this,  I  have 
never  been  in  the  way  of  hearing  the  last  address  the  first, 
except  on  the  two  occasions  named.  I  confess  I  begin  to 
think " 

"What,  John?" 

"  Why,  that  our  Miss  Monson  may  turn  out  to  be  a  mar- 
ried woman,  after  all." 

"  She  is  very  young,  is  she  not  ?  Almost  too  young  to 
be  a  wife  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all !  What  do  you  call  too  young  ?  She  is 
between  twenty  and  twenty-two  or  three.  She  may  even  be 
twenty-five  or  six." 

Anna  sighed,  though  almost  imperceptibly  to  herself  ; 
for  these  were  ages  that  well  suited  her  companion,  though 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  165 

the  youngest  exceeded  her  own  by  a  twelvemonth.  Little 
more,  however,  was  said  on  the  subject  at  that  inter 
view. 

It  is  one  of  the  singular  effects  of  the  passion  of  love, 
more  especially  with  the  generous-minded  and  just  of  the 
female  sex,  that  a  lively  interest  is  often  awakened  in 
behalf  of  a  successful  or  favored  rival.  Such  was  now  the 
fact  as  regards  the  feeling  that  Anna  Updyke  began  to 
entertain  toward  Mary  Monson.  The  critical  condition  of 
the  lady  would  of  itself  excite  interest  where  it  failed  to 
produce  distrust ;  .but  the  circumstance  that  John  Wil- 
meter  saw  so  much  to  admire  in  this  unknown  female,  if 
he  did  not  actuall)%love  her,  gave  her  an  importance  in  the 
eyes  of  Anna  that  at  once  elevated  her  into  an  object  of 
the  highest  interest.  She  was  seized  with  the  liveliest 
desire  to  see  the  accused,  and  began  seriously  to  reflect  on 
the  possibility  of  effecting  such  an  end.  No  vulgar  curios- 
ity was  mingled  with  this  new-born  purpose  ;  but,  in  ad- 
dition to  the  motives  that  were  connected  with  John's  state 
of  mind,  there  was  a  benevolent  and  truly  feminine  wish, 
on  the  part  of  Anna,  to  be  of  service  to  one  of  her  own 
sex,  so  cruelly  placed,  and  cut  off,  as  it  would  seem,  from 
all  communication  with  those  who  should  be  her  natural 
protectors  and  advisers. 

Anna  Updyke  gathered,  through  that  which  had  fallen 
from  Wilmeter  and  his  sister,  that  the  intercourse  between 
the  former  and  his  interesting  client  had  been  of  the  most 
reserved  character  ;  therein  showing  a  discretion  and  self- 
respect  on  the  part  of  the  prisoner,  that  spoke  well  for  her 
education  and  delicacy.  How  such  a  woman  came  to  be 
in  the  extraordinary  position  in  which  she  was  placed,  was 
of  course  as  much  a  mystery  to  her  as  to  all  others  ; 
though,  like  every  one  else  who  knew  aught  of  the  case, 
she  indulged  in  conjectures  of  her  own  on  the  subject. 
Being  of  a  particularly  natural  and  frank  disposition,  with- 
out a  particle  of  any  ungenerous  or  detracting  quality,  and 
filled  with  woman's  kindness  in  her  very  soul,  this  noble- 
minded  young  woman  began  now  to  feel  far  more  than  an 
idle  curiosity  in  behalf  of  her  who  had  so  lately  caused 
herself  so  much  pain,  not  to  say  bitterness  of  anguish. 
All  was  forgotten  in  pity  for  the  miserable  condition  of  the 
unconscious  offender ;  unconscious,  for  Anna  was  suffi- 
ciently clear-sighted  and  just  to  see  and  to  admit  that,  if 
John  had  been  led  astray  by  the  charms  and  sufferings 
of  this  stranger,  the  fact  could  not  rightfully  be  imputed 


166  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

to  the  last,  as  a  fault.     Every  statement  of  John's  went  to 
confirm  this  act  of  justice  to  the  stranger. 

Then,  the  unaccountable  silence  of  Marie  Moulin  doubled 
the  mystery  and  greatly  increased  the  interest  of  the  whole 
affair.  This  woman  had  gone  to  Biberry  pledged  to  com- 
municate to  Sarah  all  she  knew  or  might  learn,  touching 
the  accused  ;  and  well  did  Anna  know  that  her  friend 
would  make  her  the  repository  of  her  own  information,  on 
this  as  well  as  on  other  subjects  ;  but  a  most  unaccount- 
able silence  governed  the  course  of  the  domestic,  as  well 
as  that  of  her  strange  mistress.  It  really  seemed  that, 
in  passing  the  principal  door  of  the  jail,  Marie  Moulin 
had  buried  herself  in  a  convent,  whe^e  all  communica- 
tion with  the  outer  world  was  forbidden.  Three  several 
letters  from  Sarah  had  John  handed  in  at  the  grate,  certain 
that  they  must  have  reached  the  hands  of  the  Swiss  ;  but  no 
answer  had  been  received.  All  attempts  to  speak  to  Marie 
were  quietly,  but  most  ingeniously  evaded  by  the  tact  and 
readiness  of  the  prisoner  ;  and  the  hope  of  obtaining  in- 
formation from  that  source  was  abandoned  by  Sarah,  who 
was  too  proud  to  solicit  a  servant  for  that  which  the  last 
was  reluctant  to  communicate.  With  Anna  the  feeling 
was  different.  She  had  no  curiosity  on  the  subject,  sepa- 
rated from  a  most  generous  and  womanly  concern  in  the- 
prisoner's  forlorn  state  ;  and  she  thought  far  less  of  Marie 
Moulin's  disrespect  and  forgetfulness  of  her  word  than  of 
Mary  Monson's  desolation  and  approaching  trial. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Was  it  for  this  we  sent  out 
Liberty's  cry  from  our  shore  ? 
Was  it  for  this  that  her  shout 
Thrill' d  to  the  world's  very  core  ? 

— Moore's  National  Airs. 

THE  third  day  after  the  interviews  just  related,  the  whole 
party  left  Rattletrap  for  Tim  bully,  where  their  arrival  was 
expected  by  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  if  such  terms  can 
be  applied  to  a  woman  of  forty-five  and  a  man  of  sixty. 
The  Dukes  County  circuit  and  oyer  and  terminer  were 
about  to  be  held,  and  it  was  believed  that  Mary  Monson 
was  to  be  tried.  By  this  time  so  lively  an  interest  pre- 
vailed among  the  ladies  of  the  McBrain  and  Dunscomb 


THE   WAYS   OF  THE   HOUR.  167 

connections  in  behalf  of  the  accused,  that  they  had  all 
come  to  a  determination  to  be  present  in  court.  Curiosity 
was  not  so  much  at  the  bottom  of  this  movement  as  wom- 
anly kindness  and  sympathy.  There  seemed  a  bitterness 
of  misery  in  the  condition  of  Mary  Monson,  that  appealed 
directly  to  the  heart  ;  and  that  silent  but  eloquent  appeal 
was  answered,  as  has  just  been  stated,  generously  and  with 
warmth  by  the  whole  party  from  town.  With  Anna  Up- 
dyke  the  feeling  went  materially  further  than  with  any  of 
her  friends.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  her  interest  in  John 
increased  that  which  she  felt  for  his  mysterious  client ; 
and  her  feelings  became  enlisted  in  the  stranger's  behalf, 
so  much  the  more,  in  consequence  of  this  triangular  sort 
of  passion. 

The  morning  of  the  day  on  which  the  party  crossed  the 
country  from  Rattletrap  to  Timbully,  Timms  arrived  at  the 
latter  place.  He  was  expected,  and  was  soon  after  clos- 
eted with  the  senior  counsel  in  the  pending  and  most  im- 
portant cause. 

"  Does  the  district  attorney  intend  to  move  for  the  trial  ?" 
demanded  Dunscomb,  the  instant  the  two  were  alone. 

"He  tells  me  he  does,  sir;  and  that  early  in  the  week, 
too.  It  is  my  opinion  we  should  go  for  postponement.  "V^e 
are  hardly  ready,  while  the  State  is  too  much  so." 

"  I  do  not  comprehend  this,  Timms.  The  law  officers  of 
the  public  would  hardly  undertake  to  run  down  a  victim, 
and  she  a  solitary  and  unprotected  woman  ! " 

"That's  not  it.  The  law  officers  of  the  State  don't  care 
a  straw  whether  Mary  Monson  is  found  guilty  or  is  acquit- 
ted. That  is,  they  care  nothing  about  it  at  present.  The 
case  may  be  different  when  they  are  warmed  up  by  a  trial 
and  opposition.  Our  danger  comes  from  Jesse  Davis, 
who  is  a  nephew  of  Peter  Goodwin,  his  next  of  kin  and 
heir,  and  who  thinks  a  great  deal  of  money  was  hoarded 
by  the  old  people  ;  much  more  than  the  stocking  ever 
held  or  could  hold,  and  who  has  taken  it  into  his  wise 
head  that  the  prisoner  has  laid  hands  on  this  treasure, 
and  is  carrying  on  her  defence  with  his  cash.  This  has 
roused  him  completely,  and  he  has  retained  two  of  the 
sharpest  counsel  on  our  circuit,  who  are  beginning  to 
work  as  if  the  bargain  has  been  clinched  in  the  hard  metal. 
Williams  has  given  me  a  great  deal-  of  trouble  already.  I 
know  him  ;  he  will  not  work  without  pay  ;  but  pay  him 
liberally,  and  he  is  up  to  anything." 

"Ay,  you  are  diamond  cut  diamond,  Timms — outsiders 


1 68  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

in  the  profession.  You  understand  that  I  work  only  in 
the  open  court,  and  will  know  nothing  of  this  out-door 
management." 

"We  do  not  mean  to  let  you  know  anything  about  it, 
squire,"  returned  Timms,  dryly.  "  Each  man  to  his  own 
manner  of  getting  along.  I  ought  to  tell  you,  however,  it 
has  gone  out  that  you  are  working  without  a  fee,  while  I 
am  paid  in  the  most  liberal  manner." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that.  There  is  no  great  harm  in  the 
thing  itself  ;  but  I  dislike  the  parade  of  seeming  to  be  un- 
usually generous.  I  do  not  remember  to  have  spoken  of 
this  circumstance  where  it  would  be  likely  to  be  repeated; 
and  I  beg  you  will  be  equally  discreet." 

"The  fact  has  not  come  from  me,  I  can  assure  you,  sir. 
It  puts  me  in  too  awkward  a  position  to  delight  me  ;  and  I 
make  it  a  point  to  say  as  little  as  possible  of  what  is  dis- 
agreeable. I  do  not  relish  the  idea  of  being  thought  self- 
ish by  my  future  constituents.  Giniros'ty  is  my  cue  be- 
fore them.  But  they  say  you  work  for  love,  sir." 

" Love  ! "  answered  Dunscomb,  quickly — "Love  of  what  ? 
or  of  whom  ?  " 

"  Of  your  client — that's  the  story  now.  It  is  said  that 
you  admire  Miss  Monson  ;  that  she  is  young,  and  hand- 
some, and  rich  ;  and  she  is  to  marry  you,  if  acquitted.  If 
found  guilty  and  hanged,  the  bargain  is  off,  of  course. 
You  may  look  displeased,  squire  ;  but  I  give  you  my  word 
such  is  the  rumor." 

Dunscomb  was  extremely  vexed  ;  but  he  was  too  proud 
to  make  any  answer.  He  knew  that  he  had  done  that 
which,  among  the  mass  of  this  nation,  is  a  very  capital 
mistake,  in  not  placing  before  its  observation  an  intelligible 
motive — one  on  the  level  of  the  popular  mind— to  prevent 
these  freaks  of  the  fancy  dealing  with  his  affairs.  It  is 
true,  that  the  natural  supposition  would  be  that  he  worked 
for  his  fee,  as  did  Timms,  had  not  the  contrary  got  out ; 
when  he  became  subject  to  all  the  crude  conjectures  of 
those  who  ever  look  for  the  worst  motives  for  everything. 
Had  he  been  what  is  termed  a  favorite  public  servant,  the 
very  reverse  would  have  been  the  case,  and  there  was  lit- 
tle that  he  might  not  have  done  with  impunity  ;  but,  hav- 
ing no  such  claims  on  the  minds  of  the  mass,  he  came 
under  the  common  law-which  somewhat  distinguishes  their 
control.  Too  much  disgusted,  however,  to  continue  thic 
branch  of  the  subject,  the  worthy  counsellor  at  once  ad 
verted  to  another. 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  169 

"  Have  you  looked  over  the  list  of  the  jurors,  Timms?" 
he  demanded,  continuing  to  sort  his  papers. 

"  That  I  never  fail  to  do,  sir,  the  first  thing.  It's  my 
brief,  you  know,  Squire  Dunscomb.  All  safe  York  law, 
nowadays,  is  to  be  found  in  that  learned  body  ;  especially 
in  criminal  cases.  There  is  but  one  sort  of  suit  in  which 
the  jury  counts  for  nothing,  and  might  as  well  be  dispensed 
with." 

"  Which  is—  ?" 

"An  ejectment  cause.  It's  not  one  time  in  ten  that  they 
understand  anything  about  the  matter,  or  care  anything 
about  it ;  and  the  court  usually  leads  in  those  actions — but 
our  Dukes  County  juries  are  beginning  to  understand  their 
powers  in  all  others." 

"  What  do  you  make  of  the  list  ? " 

"  It's  what  I  call  reasonable,  squire.  There  are  two 
men  on  it  who  would  not  hang  Cain,  were  he  indicted 
for  the  murder  of  Abel." 

"  Quakers,  of  course  ?  " 

"  Not  they.  The  time  was  when  we  were  reduced  to 
the  'thee's,'  and  the  *  thou's,'  for  this  sort  of  support  ;  but 
philanthropy  is  abroad,  sir,  covering  the  land.  Talk  of 
the  schoolmaster  !  Why,  squire,  a  new  philanthropical 
idee  will  go  two  feet  to  the  schoolmaster's  one.  Pro-nigger, 
anti-gallows,  eternal  peace,  woman's  rights,  the  people's 
power,  and  anything  of  that  sort  sweeps  like  a  tornado 
through  the  land.  Get  a  juror  who  has  just  come  into 
the  anti-gallows  notion,  and  I  would  defy  the  state  to 
hang  a  body-snatcher  who  lived  by  murdering  his  sub- 
jects." 

"  And  you  count  on  two  of  these  partisans  for  our 
case ! " 

"  Lord,  no,  sir.  The  district  attorney  himself  knows 
them  both  ;  and  Davis's  counsel  have  been  studying  that 
list  for  the  last  week,  as  if  it  were  Blackstone  in  the  hands 
of  a  new  beginner.  I  can  tell  you,  Squire  Dunscomb, 
that  the  jury-list  is  a  most  important  part  of  a  case  out 
here  in  the  country  ! " 

"  I  am  much  afraid  it  is,  Timms  ;  though  I  never  exam- 
ined one  in  my  life." 

"  I  can  believe  you,  sir,  from  what  I  have  seen  of  your 
practice.  But  principles  and  facts  won't  answer  in  an  age 
of  the  world  when  men  are  ruled  by  talk  and  prejudice. 
There  is  not  a  case  of  any  magnitude  tried,  nowadays, 
without  paying  proper  attention  to  the  jury.  We  are  pretty 


170 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 


well  off,  on  the  whole  ;  and  I  am  tolerably  sanguine  of  a 
disagreement,  though  I  fear  an  acquittal  is  quite  out  of  the 
question." 

"  You  rely  on  one  or  two  particularly  intelligent  and 
disinterested  men,  ha  !  Timms  ?  " 

"  I  rely  on  five  or  six  particularly  ignorant  and  heated 
partisans,  on  the  contrary  ;  men  who  have  been  reading 
about  the  abolishing  of  capital  punishments,  and  who,  in 
gin'ral,  because  they've  got  hold  of  some  notions  that 
have  been  worn  out  as  far  back  as  the  times  of  the  Caesars, 
fancy  themselves  philosophers  and  the  children  of  progress. 
The  country  is  getting  to  be  full  of  what  I  call  donkeys 
and  racers  ;  the  donkey  is  obstinate,  and  backs  going  up- 
hill ;  while  the  racers  will  not  only  break  their  own  necks, 
but  those  of  their  riders  too,  unless  they  hold  up  long 
before  they  reach  their  goal." 

"I  did  not  know,  Timms,  that  you  think  so  much  on 
such  subjects.  To  me,  you  have  always  appeared  to  be 
a  purely  working-man — no  theorist." 

"  It  is  precisely  because  I  am  a  man  of  action,  and  live 
in  the  world,  and  see  things  as  they  were  meant  to  be 
seen,  that  I  laugh  at  your  theories.  Why,  sir,  this  country, 
in  my  judgment,  for  the  time  being,  could  much  better 
get  along  without  preaching,  than  without  hanging.  I 
don't  say  always  ;  fqr  there  is  no  telling  yet  what  is  to  be 
the  upshot  of  preaching.  It  may  turn  out  as  many  think  ; 
in  which  case  human  natur'  will  undergo  a  change  that 
will  pretty  much  destroy  our  business.  Such  a  state  of 
things  would  be  worse  for  the  bar,  squire,  than  the  Code 
or  the  last  fee-bill." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,  Timms  ;  there  are  few  things 
worse  than  this  infernal  Code." 

"  Well,  to  my  taste,  the  fee-bill  is  the  most  disagreeable 
of  the  two.  A  man  can  stand  any  sort  of  law,  and  any  sort 
of  practice  ;  but  he  can't  stand  any  sort  of  pay.  I  hear  the 
circuit  is  to  be  held  by  one  of  the  new  judges — a  people's 
man,  altogether." 

"  You  mean  by  that,  I  suppose,  Timms,  one  of  those  who 
did  not  hold  office  under  the  old  system  !  It  is  said  that 
the  new  broom  sweeps  clean — it  is  fortunate  ours  has  not 
brushed  away  all  the  old  incumbents." 

"  No,  that  is  to  come  ;  and  come  it  will,  as  sure  as  the 
sun  rises.  We  must  have  rotation  on  the  bench,  as  well  as 
in  all  other  matters.  You  see,  squire,  rotation  is  a  sort  of 
claim  with  many  men,  who  have  no  other.  They  fancy  the 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  171 

earth  to  have  been  created  on  a  sort  of  Jim  Crow  principle, 
because  it  turns  round." 

"  That  is  it ;  and  it  explains  the  clamor  that  is  made 
about  it.  But  to  return  to  this  jury,  Timms  ;  on  the  whole, 
you  like  it,  I  should  infer  ? " 

"  Not  too  well,  by  any  means.  There  are  six  or  eight 
names  on  the  list  that  I'm  always  glad  to  see  ;  for  they  be- 
long to  men  who  are  friendly  to  me " 

"  Good  God,  man — it  cannot  be  possible  that  you  count 
on  such  assistants  in  a  trial  for  a  human  life ! " 

"Not  count  on  it,  Squire  Dunscomb !  I  count  on  it 
from  an  action  of  trespass  on  the  case,  to  this  indictment 
— count  on  it,  quite  as  much,  and  a  good  deal  more  ration- 
ally, than  you  count  on  your  law  and  evidence.  Did'nt  I 
carry  that  heavy  case  for  the  railroad  company  on  that 
principle  altogether  ?  The  law  was  dead  against  us,  they 
say,  and  the  facts  were  against  us  ;  but  the  verdict  was  in 
our  favor.  That's  what  I  call  practising  law  ! " 

"  Yes  ;  I  remember  to  have  heard  of  that  case,  and  it 
was  always  a  wonder  with  the  bar  how  you  got  along  with 
it.  Had  it  been  a  verdict  against  a  corporation,  no  one 
would  have  thought  anything  of  it — but  to  carry  a  bad  case 
for  a  company,  nowadays,  is  almost  an  unheard-of  thing." 

"You  are  quite  right,  sir.  I  can  beat  any  railroad  in  the 
State,  with  a  jury  of  a  neighborhood,  let  the  question  or 
facts  be  what  they  may  ;  but,  in  this  instance,  I  beat  the 
neighborhood,  and  all  through  the  faith  the  jury  had  in 
me.  It's  a  blessed  institution,  this  of  the  jury,  Squire 
Dunscomb !  no  doubt  it  makes  us  the  great,  glorious,  and 
free  people  that  we  are  ! " 

"If  the  bench  continues  to  lose  its  influence  as  it  has 
done,  the  next  twenty  years  will  see  it  a  curse  of  the  worst 
character.  It  is  now  little  more  than  a  popular  cabal  in  all 
cases  in  the  least  calculated  to  awaken  popular  feeling  or 
prejudice." 

"  There's  the  rub  in  this  capital  case  of  ours.  Mary 
Monson  has  neglected  popularity  altogether  ;  and  she  is 
likely  to  suffer  for  it." 

"  Popularity  ! "  exclaimed  Dunscomb,  in  a  tone  of  hor- 
ror— "  and  this  in  a  matter  of  life  and  death  !  What  are 
we  coming  to  in  the  law,  as  well  as  in  politics !  No  public 
man  is  to  be  found  of  sufficient  moral  courage,  or  intellect- 
ual force,  to  stem  this  torrent  :  which  is  sweeping  away 
everything  before  it.  But  in  what  has  our  client  failed, 
Timms  ? " 


172  THE  WAYS  OF  THE  HOUR. 

"  In  almost  everything  connected  with  this  one  great 
point ;  and  what  vexes  me  is  her  wonderful  power  of 
pleasing,  which  is  completely  thrown  away.  Squire  Duns- 
comb,  I  would  carry  this  county  for  Free  Sile  or  ag'n  it, 
with  that  lady  to  back  me,  as  a  wife." 

"  What  if  she  should  refuse  to  resort  to  popular  airs  and 
graces  ? " 

"  I  mean,  of  course,  she  aiding  and  abetting.  I  would 
give  the  world,  now,  could  we  get  the  judge  into  her  com- 
pany for  half  an  hour.  It  would  make  a  friend  of  him : 
and  it  is  still  something  to  have  a  friend  in  the  judge  in  a 
criminal  case." 

"You  may  well  say  'still*  Timms  ;  how  much  longer  it 
will  be  so,  is  another  matter.  Under  the  old  system  it 
would  be  hopeless  to  expect  so  much  complaisance  in  a 
judge  ;  but  I  will  not  take  it  on  myself  to  say  what  a  peo- 
ple's judge  will  not  do." 

"  If  I  thought  the  thing  could  be  managed,  by  George,  I 
would  attempt  it !  The  grand  jurors  visit  the  jails,  and 
why  not  the  judges  ?  What  do  you  think,  sir,  of  an  anony- 
mous letter  hinting  to  his  honor  that  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Gott 
— who  is  an  excellent  creature  in  her  way — might  serve  the 
ends  of  justice  !  " 

"  As  I  think  of  all  underhanded  movements  and  trickery. 
No,  no,  Timms ;  you  had  better  let  our  client  remain  un- 
popular, than  undertake  anything  of  this  nature." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  sir.  Unpopular  she  is,  and 
will  be  as  long  as  she  pursues  her  present  course  ;  whereas 
she  might  carry  all  classes  of  men  with  her.  For  my  part, 
Squire  Dunscomb,  I've  found  this  young  lady " — here 
Timms  paused,  hemmed,  and  concluded  by  looking  a  little 
foolish — a  character  of  countenance  by  no  means  common 
with  one  of  his  shrewdness  and  sagacity. 

"  So,  so,  Master  Timms,"  said  the  senior  counsel,  re- 
garding the  junior  with  a  sort  of  sneer — "  you  are  as  great 
a  fool  as  my  nephew,  Jack  Wilmeter ;  and  have  fallen  in 
love  with  a  pretty  face,  in  spite  of  the  grand  jury  and  the 
gallows ! " 

Timms  gave  a  gulp,  seemed  to  catch  his  breath,  and  re- 
gained enough  of  his  self-command  to  be  able  to  answer. 

"  I'm  in  hopes  that  Mr.  Wilmeter  will  think  better  of 
this,  sir,"  he  said,  "  and  turn  his  views  to  a  quarter  where 
they  will  be  particularly  acceptable.  It  would  hardly  do 
for  a  young  gentleman  of  his  expectations  to  take  a  wife 
out  of  a  jail." 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  173 

"  Enough  of  this  foolery,  Timms,  and  come  to  the  point. 
remarks  about  popularity  may  have  some  sense  in 
them,  if  matters  have  been  pushed  too  far  in  a  contrary 
direction.  Of  what  do  you  complain  ? " 

"  In  the  first  place,  she  will  not  show  herself  at  the  win- 
dows ;  and  that  offends  a  great  many  persons  who  think  it 
proud  and  aristocratic  in  her  not  to  act  as  other  criminals 
act.  Then,  she  has  made  a  capital  mistake  with  a  leading 
reporter,  who  sent  in  his  name,  and  desired  an  interview  ; 
which  she  declined  granting.  She  will  hear  from  that  man, 
depend  on  it,  sir." 

"  I  shall  look  to  him,  then — for,  though  this  class  of 
men  is  fast  putting  the  law  under  foot,  it  may  be  made  to 
turn  on  them,  by  one  who  understands  it,  and  has  the 
courage  to  use  it.  I  shall  not  allow  the  rights  of  Mary 
Monson  to  be  invaded  by  such  a  fungus  of  letters." 

"  Fungus  of  letters !  Ahem — if  it  was  anybody  but 
yourself,  squire,  that  I  was  talking  to,  I  might  remind  you 
that  these  funguses  flourish  on  the  dunghill  of  the  com- 
mon mind." 

"No  matter  ;  the  law  can  be  made  to  touch  them,  when 
in  good  hands  ;  and  mine  have  now  some  experience. 
Has  this  reporter  resented  the  refusal  of  the  prisoner  to 
see  him  ? " 

"  He  is  squinting  that  way,  and  has  got  himself  sent  to 
Biberry  by  two  or  three  journals,  to  report  the  progress 
of  the  trial.  I  know  the  man  ;  he  is  vindictive,  impudent, 
and  always  uses  his  craft  to  indulge  his  resentments." 

"Ay,  many  of  those  gentry  are  up  to  that.  Is  it  not 
surprising,  Timms,  that,  in  a  country  forever  boasting  of 
its  freedom,  men  do  not  see  how  much  abuse  there  is  of  a 
very  important  interest,  in  suffering  these  irresponsible 
tyrants  to  ride  rough-shod  over  the  community  ? " 

"  Lord,  squire,  it  is  not  with  the  reporters  only  that 
abuses  are  to  be  found.  I  was  present,  the  other  day,  at  a 
conversation  between  a  judge  and  a  great  town  lawyer, 
when  the  last  deplored  the  state  of  the  juries  !  '  What 
would  you  have  ? "  says  his  honor ;  '  angels  sent  down 
from  Heaven  to  fill  the  jury-boxes  ? '  Wall  " — Timms 
never  could  get  over  the  defects  of  his  early  associations 
—"Waal,  squire,"  he  continued,  with  a  shrewd  leer  of  the 
eyes,  "  I  thought  a  few  saints  might  be  squeezed  in  be- 
tween the  lowest  angel  in  Heaven  and  the  average  of  our 
Dukes  County  panels.  This  is  a  great  fashion  of  talking 
that  is  growing  up  among  us  to  meet  an  objection  by  cry- 


*74  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

ing  out,  '  Men  are  not  angels  ;  *  as  if  some  men  are  not 
better  than  others." 

"  The  institutions  clearly  maintain  that  some  men  are 
better  than  others,  Timms  !  " 

"  That's  news  to  me,  I  will  own.  I  thought  the  institu- 
tions declared  all  men  alike — that  is,  all  white  men  ;  I 
know  that  the  niggers  are  nonsuited." 

"  They  are  unsuited,  at  least,  according  to  the  spirit  of 
the  institutions.  If  all  men  are  supposed  to  be  alike, 
what  use  is  there  in  the  elections  ?  Why  not  draw  lots  for 
office,  as  we  draw  lots  for  juries  ?  Choice  infers  inequali- 
ties, or  the  practice  is  an  absurdity.  But  here  comes 
McBrain,  with  a  face  so  full  of  meaning,  he  must  have 
something  to  tell  us." 

Sure  enough,  the  bridegroom-physician  came  into  the 
room  at  that  instant ;  and  without  circumlocution  he  en- 
tered at  once  on  the  topic  that  was  then  uppermost  in  his 
mind.  It  was  the  custom  of  the  neighborhood  to  profit  by 
the  visits  of  this  able  practitioner  to  his  country-place,  by 
calling  on  him  for  advice  in  such  difficult  cases  as  existed 
anywhere  in  the  vicinity  of  Timbully.  Even  his  recent 
marriage  did  not  entirely  protect  him  from  these  appeals, 
which  brought  so  little  pecuniary  advantage  as  to  be 
gratuitous  ;  and  he  had  passed  much  of  the  last  two  days 
in  making  professional  visits  in  a  circle  around  his  resi- 
dence that  included  Biberry.  Such  were  the  means  by 
which  he  had  obtained  the  information  that  now  escaped 
from  him,  as  it  might  be,  involuntarily. 

"  I  have  never  known  so  excited  a  state  of  the  public 
mind,"  he  cried,  "as  now  exists  all  around  Biberry,  on  the 
subject  of  your  client,  Tom,  and  this  approaching  trial. 
Go  where  I  may,  see  whom  I  will,  let  the  disease  be  as 
serious  as  possible,  all,  patients,  parents,  friends  and 
nurses,  commence  business  with  asking  me  what  I  think 
of  Mary  Monson,  and  of  her  guilt  or  innocence." 

"  That's  because  you  are  married,  Ned  " — Dunscomb 
coolly  answered.  "  Now  no  one  thinks  of  putting  such  a 
question  to  me.  I  see  lots  of  people,  as  well  as  yourself  ; 
but  not  a  soul  has  asked  me  whether  I  thought  Mary 
Monson  guilty  or  innocent." 

"  Poh  !  you  are  her  counsel,  and  no  one  could  take  the 
liberty.  I  dare  say  that  even  Mr.  Timms,  here,  your 
associate,  has  never  compared  notes  with  you  on  that  par- 
ticular  point." 

Timms  was  clearly  not  quite  himself ;  and  he  did  not 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  175 

look  as  shrewd  as  he  once  would  have  done  at  such  a 
remark.  He  kept  in  the  background,  and  was  content  to 
listen. 

"  I  do  suppose  association  with  a  brother  in  the  law,  and 
in  a  case  of  life  and  death,  is  something  like  matrimony, 
Dr.  McBrain.  A  good  deal  must  be  taken  for  granted, 
and  not  a  little  on  credit.  As  a  man  is  bound  to  believe 
his  wife  the  most  excellent,  virtuous,  most  amiable  and 
best  creature  on  earth,  so  is  a  counsel  bound  to  consider  his 
client  innocent.  The  relation,  in  each  case,  is  confiden- 
tial, however  ;  and  I  shall  not  pry  into  your  secrets,  any 
more  than  I  shall  betray  one  of  my  own." 

"  I  asked  for  none,  and  wish  none  ;  but  one  may  ex- 
press surprise  at  the  intense  degree  of  excitement  that 
prevails  all  through  Dukes,  and  even  the  adjacent 
counties." 

"  The  murder  of  a  man  and  his  wife  in  cold  blood,  ac- 
companied by  robbery  and  arson,  are  enough  to  arouse 
the  community.  In  this  particular  case  the  feeling  of  in- 
terest is  increased,  I  make  no  doubt,  by  the  extraordinary 
character,  as  well  as  by  the  singular  mystery,  of  the  party 
accused.  I  have  had  many  clients,  Ned,  but  never  one 
like  this  before  ;  as  you  have  had  many  wives,  but  no  one 
so  remarkable  as  the  present  Mrs.  McBrain." 

"Your  time  will  come  yet,  Master  Dunscomb — recollect 
I  have  always  prognosticated  that." 

"  You  forget  that  I  am  approaching  sixty.  A  man's 
heart  is  as  hard  and  dry  as  a  bill  in  chancery  at  that  age — 
but,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Ned  ;  you  are  an  exception." 

"  I  certainly  believe  than  a  man  can  have  affections, 
even  at  four  score — and  what  is  more,  I  believe  that  when 
the  reason  and  judgment  come  in  aid  of  the  passions " 

Dunscomb  laughed  outright ;  nay,  he  even  gave  a  little 
shout,  his  bachelor  habits  having  rendered  him  more 
exuberant  in  manner  than  might  otherwise  have  been  the 
case. 

"  Passions ! "  he  cried,  rubbing  his  hands,  and  looking 
round  for  Timms,  that  he  might  have  some  one  to  share 
in  what  he  regarded  as  a  capital  joke.  "  The  passions  of 
a  fellow  of  three-score  !  Ned,  you  do  not  flatter  yourself 
that  you  have  been  marrying  the  Widow  Updyke  in  con- 
sequence of  any  passion  you  feel  for  her  ?" 

"  I  do,  indeed,"  returned  the  doctor,  with  spirit  ;  muster- 
ing resolution  to  carry  the  war  into  the  enemy's  country. 
"  Let  me  tell  you,  Tom  Dunscomb,  that  a  warm-hearted 


176  THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

fellow  can  love  a  woman  dearly,  long  after  the  age  you 
have  mentioned — that  is,  provided  he  has  not  let  all  feel- 
ing die  within  him,  for  want  of  watering  a  plant  that  is  the 
most  precious  boon  of  a  most  gracious  Providence." 

"  Ay,  if  he  begin  at  twenty,  and  keep  even  pace  with  his 
beloved  down  the  descent  of  time." 

"  That  may  all  be  true  ;  but,  if  it  has  been  his  misfort- 
une to  lose  one  partner,  a  second — 

"  And  a  third,  Ned,  a  third — why  not  foot  the  bill  at 
once,  as  they  say  in  the  market  ? " 

"  Well,  a  third,  too,  if  circumstances  make  that  demand 
on  him.  Anything  is  better  than  leaving  the  affections  to 
stagnate  for  want  of  cultivation." 

"Adam  in  Paradise,  by  Jove!  But  I'll  not  reproach 
you  again,  since  you  have  got  so  gentle  and  kind  a  creature, 
and  one  who  is  twenty  years  your  junior — 

"  Only  eighteen,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Dunscomb." 

"  Now  I  should  be  glad  to  know  whether  you  have  add- 
ed those  two  years  to  the  bride's  age,  or  subtracted  them 
from  that  of  the  bridegroom  !  I  suppose  the  last,  however, 
as  a  matter  of  course." 

"  I  do  not  well  see  how  you  can  suppose  any  such  thing, 
knowing  my  age  as  well  as  you  do.  Mrs.  McBrain  is  forty- 
two,  an  age  when  a  woman  can  be  as  lovable  as  at  nine- 
teen— more  so,  if  her  admirer  happens  to  be  a  man  of 
sense." 

"  And  sixty-two.  Well,  Ned,  you  are  incorrigible  ;  and, 
for  the  sake  of  the  excellent  woman  who  has  consented  to 
have  you,  I  only  hope  this  will  be  the  last  exhibition  of 
your  weakness.  So  they  talk  a  good  deal  of  Mary  Mon- 
son,  up  and  down  the  country,  do  they  ? " 

"  Of  little  else,  I  can  assure  you.  I  am  sorry  to  say,  the 
tide  seems  to  be  setting  strongly  against  her." 

"That  is  bad  news;  as  few  jurors,  nowadays,  are  supe- 
rior to  such  an  influence.  What  is  said,  in  particular,  Dr. 
McBrain  ?  In  the  way  of  facts,  I  mean  ?" 

"  One  report  is  that  the  accused  is  full  of  money  ;  and 
that  a  good  deal  of  that  which  she  is  scattering  broadcast 
has  been  seen  by  different  persons,  at  different  times,  in 
the  possession  of  the  deceased  Mrs.  Goodwin." 

"  Let  them  retail  the  lie,  far  and  near,  squire,  and  we'll 
turn  it  to  good  account,"  said  Tirmns,  taking  out  his  note- 
book, and  writing  down  what  he  had  just  heard.  "  I  have 
reason  to  think  that  every  dollar  Mary  Monson  has  uttered 
since  her  confinement " 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  177 

"  Imprisonment  would  be  a  better  word,  Mr.  Timms," 
interrupted  the  doctor. 

"  I  see  no  great  difference,"  replied  the  literal  attorney 
— "  but  imprisonment,  if  you  prefer  it.  I  have  reason  to 
think  that  every  dollar  Mary  Monson  has  put  in  circulation 
since  she  entered  the  jail  at  Biberry,  has  come  from  either 
young  Mr.  Wilmeter  or  myself,  in  exchange  for  hundred- 
dollar  notes — and,  in  one  instance,  for  a  note  of  five  hun- 
dred dollars.  She  is  well  off,  I  can  tell  you,  gentlemen  ; 
and  if  she  is  to  be  executed,  her  executor  will  have  some- 
thing to  do  when  all  is  over." 

*'  You  do  not  intend  to  allow  her  to  be  hanged,  Timms  ?" 
demanded  McBrain,  aghast. 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it,  doctor ;  and  this  lie  about  the 
money,  when  clearly  disproved,  will  be  of  capital  service 
to  her.  Let  them  circulate  it  as  much  as  they  please,  the 
rebound  will  be  in  proportion  to  the  blow.  The  more  they 
circulate  that  foolish  rumor,  the  better  it  will  be  for  our 
client  when  we  come  to  trial." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right,  Timms  ;  though  I  could  pre- 
fer plainer  dealings.  A  cause  in  which  you  are  employed, 
however,  must  have  more  or  less  of  management." 

"Which  is  better,  squire,  than  your  law  and  evidence. 
But  what  else  has  Dr.  McBrain  to  tell  us  ? " 

"  I  hear  that  Peter  Goodwin's  nephew,  who  it  seems  had 
some  expectations  from  the  old  people,  is  particularly  sav- 
age, and  leaves  no  stone  unturned  to  get  up  a  popular 
feeling  against  the  accused." 

"  He  had  best  beware,"  said  Dunscomb,  his  usually  col- 
orless but  handsome  face  flushing  as  he  spoke.  "  I  shall 
not  trifle  in  a  matter  of  this  sort — ha !  Timms  ?  " 

"  Lord  bless  you,  squire,  Dukes  County  folks  wouldn't 
understand  a  denial  of  the  privilege  to  say  what  they  please 
in  a  case  of  this  sort.  They  fancy  this  is  liberty  ;  and 
'touch  my  honor,  take  your  poker,'  is  not  more  sensitive 
than  the  feelin'  of  liberty  in  these  parts.  I'm  afraid  that 
not  only  this  Joe  Davis,  but  the  reporters,  will  say  just 
what  they  please  ;  and  Mary  Monson's  rights  will  whistle 
for  it.  You  will  remember  that  our  judge  is  not  only  a 
brand-new  one,  but  he  drew  the  two  years'  term  into  the 
bargain.  No,  I  think  it  will  be  wisest  to  let  the  law,  and 
old  principles,  and  the  right,  and  true  liberty,  quite  alone  ; 
and  to  bow  the  knee  to  things  as  they  are.  A  good  deal 
is  said  about  our  fathers,  and  their  wisdom,  and  patriotism, 
and  sacrifices  ;  but  nobody  dreams  of  doing  as  they  did,  or 
12 


178  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

of  reasoning  as  they  reasoned.  Life  is  made  up,  in  reality, 
of  these  little  matters  in  a  corner ;  while  the  great  princi- 
ples strut  about  in  buckram,  for  men  to  admire  them  and 
talk  about  them.  I  do  take  considerable  delight,  Squire 
Dunscomb,  in  hearing  you  enlarge  on  a  principle,  whether 
it  be  in  law,  morals,  or  politics  ;  but  I  should  no  more 
think  of  practising  on  'em,  than  I  should  think  of  refusing 
a  thousand  dollar  fee." 

"  Is  that  your  price  ?"  demanded  McBrain,  with  curios- 
ity. "  Do  you  work  for  as  large  a  sum  as  that,  in  this  case, 
Timms  ? " 

"  I'm  paid,  doctor  ;  just  as  you  was  " — the  attorney  never 
stuck  at  grammar — "just  as  you  was  for  that  great  opera- 
tion on  the  Wall  Street  Millenary'ian — 

"  Millionaire,  you  mean,  Timms,"  said  Dunscomb,  coolly 
— "  it  means  one  worth  a  million." 

"  I  never  attempt  a  foreign  tongue  but  I  stumble,"  said 
the  attorney,  simply  ;  for  he  knew  that  both  his  friends 
were  familiar  with  his  origin,  education,  and  advancement 
in  life,  and  that  it  was  wisest  to  deny  nothing  to  them  ; 
"but  since  I  have  been  so  much  with  Mary  Monson  and 
her  woman,  I  do  own  a  desire  to  speak  the  language  they 
use." 

Again  Dunscomb  regarded  his  associate  intently  ;  some- 
thing comical  gleaming  in  his  eye. 

"  Timms,  you  have  fallen  in  love  with  your  handsome 
client,"  he  quietly  remarked. 

"No,  sir;  not  quite- as  bad  as  that,  yet;  though  I  will 
acknowledge  that  the  lady  is  very  interesting.  Should 
she  be  acquitted,  and  could  we  only  get  some  knowledge 
of  her  early  history — why,  that  might  put  a  new  face  on 
matters." 

"  I  must  drive  over  to  Biberry  in  the  morning,  and  have 
another  interview  with  the  lady  myself.  And  now,  Ned, 
I  will  join  your  wife,  and  read  an  epithalamium  prepared 
for  this  great  occasion.  You  need  not  trouble  yourself  to 
follow,  the  song  being  no  novelty  ;  for  I  have  read  it  twice 
before  on  your  account." 

A  hearty  laugh  at  his  own  wit  concluded  the  discourse 
on  the  part  of  the  great  York  counsellor  ;  though  Timms 
remained  some  time  longer  with  the  doctor,  questioning 
the  latter  touching  opinions  and  facts  gleaned  by  the  phy- 
sician in  the  course  of  his  circuit. 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  179 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

From  his  brimstone  bed  at  break  of  day, 

A-walking  the  devil  is  gone, 
To  visit  his  little  snug  farm  of  the  earth, 

And  see  how  his  stock  went  on. — COLERIDGE. 

DUNSCOMB  was  as  good  as  his  word.  Next  morning  he 
was  on  his  way  to  Biberry.  He  was  thoughtful  ;  had  laid 
a  bundle  of  papers  on  the  front  seat  of  the  carriage,  and 
went  his  way  musing  and  silent.  Singularly  enough,  his 
only  companion  was  Anna  Updyke,  who  had  asked  a  seat 
in  the  carriage  timidly,  but  with  an  earnestness  that  pre- 
vailed. Had  Jack  Wilmeter  been  at  Biberry,  this  request 
would  not  have  been  made  ;  but  she  knew  he  was  in  town, 
and  that  she  might  make  the  little  excursion  without  the 
imputation  of  indelicacy,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned.  .Her 
object  will  appear  in  the  course  of  the  narrative. 

The  "best  tavern"  in  Biberry  was  kept  by  Daniel  Hor- 
ton.  The  wife  of  this  good  man  had  a  native  propensity 
to  talk  that  had  been  essentially  cultivated  in  the  course 
of  five-and-twenty  years'  practice  in  the  inn  where  she  had 
commenced  her  career  as  maid ;  and  was  now  finishing  it 
as  mistress.  As  is  common  with  persons  of  her  class,  she 
knew  hundreds  of  those  who  frequented  her  house  ;  call- 
ing each  readily  by  name,  and  treating  every  one  with  a 
certain  degree  of  professional  familiarity  that  is  far  from 
uncommon  in  country  inns. 

"Mr.  Dunscomb,  I  declare!"  cried  this  woman,  as  she 
entered  the  room  and  found  the  counsellor  and  his  com- 
panion in  possession  of  her  best  parlor.  "  This  is  a  pleas- 
ure I  did  not  expect  until  the  circuit.  It's  quite  twenty 
years,  squire,  since  I  had  the  pleasure  of  first  waiting 
on  you  in  this  house.  And  a  pleasure  it  has  always 
been  ;  for  I've  not  forgotten  the  ejectment  suit  that  you 
carried  for  Horton  when  we  was  only  new  beginners.  I 
am  glad  to  see  you,  sir;  welcome  to  Biberry,  as  is  this 
young  lady,  who  is  your  daughter,  I  presume,  Mr.  Duns- 
comb." 

"You  forget  that  I  am  a  bachelor,  Mrs.  Horton — no 
marrying  man,  in  any  sense  of  the  word." 

"  I  might  have  known  that,  had  I  reflected  a  moment  ; 
for  they  say  Mary  Monson  employs  none  but  bachelors 


i8o  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

and  widowers  in  her  case  ;  and  you  are  her  counsel,  I 
know." 

11  This  is  a  peculiarity  of  which  I  was  not  aware.  Timms 
is  a  bachelor,  certainly,  as  well  as  myself  ;  but  to  whom 
else  can  you  allude  ?  Jack  Wilmeter,  my  nephew,  can 
hardly  be  said  to  be  employed  at  all ;  nor,  for  that  matter, 
Michael  Millington  ;  though  neither  is  married." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  we  know  both  of  the  last  well,  they  having 
lodged  with  us.  If  young  Mr.  Wilmeter  is  single,  I  fancy 
it  is  not  his  own  fault  " — here  Mrs.  Horton  looked  very 
wise,  but  continued  talking — "  Young  gentlemen  of  a  good 
appearance  and  handsome  fortunes  commonly  have  not 
much  difficulty  in  getting  wives — not  as  much  as  young 
ladies ;  for  you  men  make  the  law,  and  you  give  your  own 
sex  the  best  chance,  almost  as  a  matter  of  course " 

"  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Horton,"  interrupted  Dunscomb,  a 
little  formally,  like  one  who  felt  great  interest  in  the  sub- 
ject— "you  were  remarking  that  we  have  the  best  chance 
of  getting  married ;  and  here  have  I  been  a  bachelor  all 
my  life,  trying  in  vain  to  enter  into  the  happy  state  of 
matrimony — if,  indeed,  it  deserve  to  be  so  termed." 

"  It  could  not  be  very  difficult  for  you  to  find  a  com- 
panion," said  the  landlady,  shaking  her  head  ;  "  and  for 
the  reason  I  have  just  given." 

"Which  was ?" 

"That  you  men  have  made  the  laws,  and  profit  by  them. 
You  can  ask  whom  you  please ;  but  a  woman  is  obliged  to 
wait  to  be  asked." 

"  You  never  were  in  a  greater  mistake  in  your  life,  I  do 
assure  you,  my  good  Mrs.  Horton.  There  is  no  such  law 
on  the  subject.  Any  woman  may  put  the  question,  as  well 
as  any  man.  This  was  the  law,  and  I  don't  think  the  Code 
has  changed  it." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that  well  enough — and  get  laughed  at,  and 
pointed  at,  for  her  pains.  I  know  that  a  good  deal  is  said 
about  leap-year  ;  but  who  ever  heard  of  a  woman's  putting 
the  question  ?  I  fancy  that  even  Mary  Monson  would 
think  twice  before  she  took  so  bold  a  step  once." 

"  Mary  Monson  !  "  exclaimed  Dunscomb,  suddenly  turn- 
ing toward  his  hostess — "  Has  she  a  reputation  for  being 
attentive  to  gentlemen?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of;  but— 

"Then  allow  me  to  say,  my  good  Mrs.  Horton,"  inter- 
rupted the  celebrated  counsellor,  with  a  manner  that  was 
almost  austere,  "  that  you  have  been  greatly  to  blame  in 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  181 

hazarding  the  sort  of  remark  you  did.  If  you  know  nothing 
of  the  character  you  certainly  insinuated,  you  should  have 
said  nothing.  It  is  very  extraordinary  that  women,  alive 
as  they  must  be  to  the  consequences  to  one  of  their  own 
sex,  are  ever  more  ready  than  men  to  throw  out  careless, 
and  frequently  malicious  hints,  that  take  away  a  reputa- 
tion, and  do  a  melancholy  amount  of  harm  in  the  world. 
Slander  is  the  least  respectable,  the  most  unchristian-like, 
and  the  most  unlady-like  vice,  of  all  the  secondary  sins  of 
your  sex.  One  would  think  the  danger  you  are  all  exposed 
to  in  common  would  teach  you  greater  caution." 

"  Yes,  sir,  that  is  true  ;  but  this  Mary  Monson  is  in  such 
a  pickle  already,  that  it  is  not  easy  to  make  her  case  much 
worse,"  answered  Mrs.  Horton,  a  good  deal  frightened  at 
the  austerity  of  Dunscomb's  rebuke  ;  for  his  reputation 
was  too  high  to  render  his  good  or  bad  opinion  a  matter 
of  indifference  to  her.  "  If  you  only  knew  the  half  that 
is  said  of  her  in  Dukes,  you  wouldn't  mind  a  careless  word 
or  so  about  her.  Everybody  thinks  her  guilty  ;  and  a 
crime  more  or  less  can  be  of  no  great  matter  to  the  likes 
of  her'' 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Horton,  these  careless  words  do  a  vast  deal 
of  harm.  They  insinuate  away  a  reputation  in  a  breath  ; 
and  my  experience  has  taught  me  that  they  who  are  the 
most  apt  to  use  them  are  persons  whose  own  conduct  will 
least  bear  the  light.  Women  with  a  whole  log-heap  of 
beams  in  their  own  eyes,  are  remarkable  for  discovering 
motes.  Give  me  the  female  who  floats  along  quietly  in 
her  sphere,  unoffending  and  charitable,  wishing  for  the 
best,  and  as  difficult  to  be  brought  to  think  as  to  do  evil. 
But  they  talk  a  good  deal  against  my  client,  do  they  ? " 

"  More  than  I  have  ever  known  folks  talk  against  any 
indicted  person,  man  or  woman.  The  prize-fighters,  who 
were  in  for  murder,  had  a  pretty  hard  time  of  it  ;  but 
nothing  to  Mary  Monson's.  In  short,  until  Squire  Timms 
came  out  in  her  favor,  she  had  no  chance  at  all." 

"This  is  not  very  encouraging,  certainly — but  what  is 
said,  Mrs.  Horton,  if  you  will  suffer  me  to  put  the  ques- 
tion ?" 

"Why,  Squire  Dunscomb,"  answered  the  woman,  purs- 
ing up  a  very  pretty  American  mouth  of  her  own,  "  a  body 
is  never  sure  that  you  won't  call  what  she  says  slander " 

"  Poh — poh — you  know  me  better  than  that.  I  never 
meddle  with  that  vile  class  of  suits.  I  am  employed  to 
defend  Mary  Monson,  you  know — 


182  THE   WAYS    OF   THE  HOUR. 

"Yes,  and  are  well  paid  for  it  too,  Squire  Dunscomb,  if 
all  that  a  body  hears  is  true,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Horton,  a 
little  spitefully.  "  Five  thousand  dollars,  they  say,  to  a  cent ! " 

Dunscomb,  who  was  working  literally  without  other  re- 
ward than  the  consciousness  of  doing  his  duty,  smiled, 
while  he  frowned  at  this  fresh  instance  of  the  absurdities 
into  which  rumor  can  lead  its  votaries.  Bowing  a  little 
apology,  he  coolly  lighted  a  cigar,  and  proceeded. 

"Where  is  it  supposed  that  Mary  Monson  can  find  such 
large  sums  to  bestow,  Mrs.  Horton?"  he  quietly  asked, 
when  his  cigar  was  properly  lighted.  "  It  is  not  usual  for 
young  and  friendless  women  to  have  pockets  so  well  lined." 

"  Nor  is  it  usual  for  young  women  to  rob  and  murder 
old  ones,  squire." 

"  Was  Mrs.  Goodwin's  stocking  thought  to  be  large 
enough  to  hold  sums  like  that  you  have  mentioned  ? " 

"  Nobody  knows.  Gold  takes  but  little  room,  as  witness 
Californy.  There  was  General  Wilton — every  one  thought 
him  rich  as  Caesar — 

"Do  you  not  mean  Crcesus,  Mrs.  Horton  ?" 

"Well,  Caesar  or  Croesus  ;  both  were  rich,  I  do  suppose, 
and  General  Wilton  was  thought  the  equal  of  either  ;  but, 
when  he  died,  his  estate  wouldn't  pay  his  debts.  On  the 
other  hand,  old  Davy  Davidson  was  set  down  by  nobody 
at  more  than  twenty  thousand,  and  he  left  ten  times  that 
much  money.  So  I  say  nobody  knows.  Mrs.  Goodwin 
was  always  a  saving  woman,  though  Peter  would  make  the 
dollars  fly,  if  he  could  get  at  them.  There  was  certainly  a 
weak  spot  in  Peter,  though  known  to  but  very  few." 

Dunscomb  now  listened  attentively.  Every  fact  of  this 
nature  was  of  importance  just  then  ;  and  nothing  could  be 
said  of  the  murdered  couple  that  would  not  induce  all  en- 
gaged in  the  cause  to  prick  up  their  ears. 

"  I  have  always  understood  that  Peter  Goodwin  was  a 
very  respectable  sort  of  a  man,"  observed  Dunscomb,  with 
a  profound  knowledge  of  human  nature,  which  was  far 
more  likely  to  induce  the  woman  to  be  communicative,  in 
the  way  of  opposition,  than  by  any  other  process — "  as 
respectable  a  man  as  any  about  here." 

"  So  he  might  be,  but  he  had  his  weak  points  as  well  as 
other  respectable  men  ;  though,  as  I  have  said  already, 
his'n  wasn't  generally  known.  Everybody  is  respectable, 
I  suppose,  until  they're  found  out.  But  Peter  is  dead  and 
gone,  and  I  have  no  wish  to  disturb  his  grave,  which  I  be- 
lieve to  be  a  sinful  act." 


THE  WAYS    OF  THE   HOUR.  183 

This  sounded  still  more  ominously,  and  it  greatly  in- 
creased Dunscomb's  desire  to  learn  more.  Still  he  saw 
that  great  caution  must  be  used,  Mrs.  Horton  choosing  to 
affect  much  tenderness  for  her  deceased  neighbor's  char- 
acter. The  counsellor  knew  human  nature  well  enough 
to  be  aware  that  indifference  was  sometimes  as  good  a 
stimulant  as  opposition  ;  and  he  now  thought  it  expedient 
to  try  the  virtue  of  that  quality.  Without  making  any  im- 
mediate answer,  therefore,  he  desired  the  attentive  and 
anxious  Anna  Updyke  to  perform  some  little  office  for 
him  ;  thus  managing  to  get  her  out  of  the  room,  while  the 
hostess  stayed  behind.  Then  his  cigar  did  not  quite  suit 
him,  and  he  tried  another,  making  divers  little  delays  that 
set  the  landlady  on  the  tenter-hooks  of  impatience. 

"  Yes,  Peter  is  gone — dead  and  buried— and  I  hope  the 
sod  lies  lightly  on  his  remains  !  "  she  said,  sighing  ostenta- 
tiously. 

"  Therein  you  are  mistaken,  Mrs.  Horton,"  the  coun- 
sellor coolly  remarked — "  the  remains  of  neither  of  those 
found  in  the  ruins  of  the  house  are  under  ground  yet  ;  but 
are  kept  for  the  trial." 

"  What  a  time  we  shall  have  of  it ! — so  exciting  and  full 
of  mystery  !  " 

"And  you  might  add  'custom,'  Mrs.  Horton.  The  re- 
porters alone,  who  will  certainly  come  from  town  like  an 
inroad  of  Cossacks,  will  fill  your  house." 

"  Yes,  and  themselves,  too.  To  be  honest  with  you, 
Squire  Dunscomb,  too  many  of  those  gentry  wish  to  be 
kept  for  nothing  to  make  them  pleasant  boarders.  I  dare 
say,  however,  we  shall  be  full  enough  next  week.  I  some- 
times wish  there  was  no  such  thing  as  justice,  after  a  hard- 
working Oyer  and  Terminer  court." 

"You  should  be  under  no  concern,  my  good  Mrs.  Hor- 
ton, on  that  subject.  There  is  really  so  little  of  the  thing 
you  have  mentioned  that  no  reasonable  woman  need  make 
herself  unhappy  about  it.  So  Peter  Goodwin  was  a  fault- 
less man,  was  he  ?  " 

"As  far  from  it  as  possible,  if  the  truth  was  said  of  him  ; 
and  seeing  the  man  is  not  absolutely  under  ground,  I  do 
not  know  why  it  may  not  be  told.  I  can  respect  the  grave, 
as  well  as  another  ;  but,  as  he  is  not  buried,  one  may  tell 
the  truth.  Peter  Goodwin  was,  by  no  means,  the  man  he 
seemed  to  be." 

"  In  what  particular  did  he  fail,  my  good  Mrs.  Horton  ?  " 

To  be  good  in  Dunscomb's  eyes,  the  landlady  well  knew, 


1 84  THE   IV A  YS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

was  a  great  honor  ;  and  she  was  flattered  as  much  by  the 
manner  in  which  the  words  were  uttered,  as  by  their  im- 
port. Woman-like,  Mrs.  Horton  was  overcome  by  this 
little  bit  of  homage  ;  and  she  felt  disposed  to  give  up  a  se- 
cret which,  to  do  her  justice,  had  been  religiously  kept 
now  for  some  ten  or  twelve  years  between  herself  and  her 
husband.  As  she  and  the  counsel  were  alone,  dropping 
her  voice  a  little,  more  for  the  sake  of  appearances  than 
for  any  sufficient  reason,  the  landlady  proceeded. 

"Why,  you  must  know,  Squire  Dunscomb,  that  Peter 
Goodwin  was  a  member  of  meetin',  and  a  professing 
Christian,  which  I  suppose  was  all  the  better  for  him,  see- 
ing that  he  was  to  be  murdered." 

"  And  do  you  consider  his  being  a  '  professing  Christian  ' 
as  you  call  it,  a  circumstance  to  be  concealed  ? " 

"  Not  at  all,  sir — but  I  consider  it  a  good  reason  why  the 
facts  I  am  about  to  tell  you,  ought  not  to  be  generally 
known.  Scoffers  abound  ;  and  I  take  it  that  the  feelings 
of  a  believer  ought  to  be  treated  more  tenderly  than  those 
of  an  unbeliever,  for  the  church's  sake." 

"  That  is  the  fashion  of  the  times  too — one  of  the  ways 
of  the  hour,  whether  it  is  to  last  or  not.  But  proceed  if 
you  please,  my  good  Mrs.  Horton  ;  I  am  quite  curious  to 
know  by  what  particular  sin  Satan  managed  to  overcome 
this  *  professing  Christian  ? '  " 

"  He  drank,  Squire  Dunscomb — no,  he  guzzled,  for  that 
is  the  best  word.  You  must  know  that  Dolly  was  avarice 
itself — that's  the  reason  she  took  this  Mary  Monson  in  to 
board,  though  her  house  was  no  ways  suited  for  boarders, 
standing  out  of  the  way,  with  only  one  small  spare  bed- 
room, and  that  under  the  roof.  Had  she  let  this  stranger 
woman  come  to  one  of  the  regular  houses,  as  she  might 
have  done,  and  been  far  better  accommodated  than  it  was 
possible  for  her  to  be  in  a  garret,  it  is  not  likely  she  would 
have  been  murdered.  She"  lost  her  life,  as  I  tell  Horton, 
for  meddling  with  other  people's  business." 

"If  such  were  the  regular  and  inevitable  punishment  of 
that  particular  offence,  my  good  landlady,  there  would  be 
a  great  dearth  of  ladies,"  said  Tom  Dunscomb,  a  little 
dryly — "but  you  were  remarking  that  Peter  Goodwin,  the 
member  of  meeting,  and  Mary  Monson's  supposed  victim, 
had  a  weakness  in  favor  of  strong  liquor  ? " 

"  Juleps  were  his  choice — I've  heard  of  a  part  of  the 
country,  somewhere  about  Virginny  I  believe  it  is,  where 
teetotalers  make  an  exception  in  favor  of  juleps — it  may  do 


THE   WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  185 

there,  Squire  Dunscomb,  but  it  won't  do  here.  No  liquor 
undoes  a  body,  in  this  part  of  the  country,  sooner  than 
mint  juleps.  I  will  find  you  ten  constitutions  that  can 
hold  out  ag'in  brandy,  or  plain  grog,  or  even  grog,  beer, 
and  cider,  all  three  together,  where  you  can  find  me  one 
that  will  hold  out  ag'in  juleps.  I  always  set  down  a  reg'lar 
julep  fancier  as  a  case — that  is,  in  this  part  of  the  country." 

"  Very  true,  my  good  landlady,  and  very  sensible  and 
just.  I  consider  you  a  sensible  and  just  woman,  whose 
mind  has  been  enlarged  by  an  extensive  acquaintance  with 
human  nature — 

"  A  body  does  pick  up  a  good  deal  in  and  around  a  bar, 
Squire  Dunscomb ! " 

"  Pick  up,  indeed — I've  known  'em  picked  up  by  the 
dozen  myself.  And  Peter  would  take  the  juleps  ?" 

"  Awfully  fond  of  them  !  He  no  more  dared  to  take  one 
at  home,  however,  than  he  dared  to  go  and  ask  Minister 
Watch  to  make  him  one.  No,  he  know'd  better  where  the 
right  sort  of  article  was  to  be  had,  and  always  came  down 
to  our  house  when  he  was  dry.  Horton  mixes  stiff,  or  we 
should  have  been  a  good  deal  better  off  in  the  world  than 
we  are — not  that  we're  mis'rable,  as  it  is.  But  Horton 
takes  it  strong  himself,  and  he  mixes  strong  for  others. 
Peter  soon  found  this  out,  and  he  fancied  his  juleps  more, 
as  he  has  often  told  me  himself,  than  the  juleps  of  the 
great  Bowery-man,  who  has  a  name  for  'em,  far  and  near. 
Horton  can  mix  a  julep,  if  he  can  do  nothing  else." 

"And  Peter  Goodwin  was  in  the  habit  of  frequenting 
your  house  privately,  to  indulge  this  propensity  ? " 

"  I'm  almost  ashamed  to  own  that  he  did — perhaps  it 
was  sinful  in  us  to  let  him  ;  but  a  body  must  carry  out  the 
idee  of  trade — our  trade  is  tavern-keeping,  and  it's  our 
business  to  mix  liquors,  though  Minister  Watch  says,  al- 
most every  Sabbath,  that  professors  should  do  nothing  out 
of  sight  that  they  wouldn't  do  before  the  whole  congrega- 
tion. I  don't  hold  to  that,  however,  for  it  would  soon 
break  up  tavern-keeping  altogether.  Yes,  Peter  did  drink 
awfully,  in  a  corner." 

"  To  intoxication,  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Horton  ? " 

"  To  delirrum  tremus,  sir — yes,  full  up  to  that.  His 
way  was  to  come  down  to  the  village  on  the  pretence  of 
business,  and  to  come  right  to  our  house,  where  I've 
known  him  to  take  three  juleps  in  the  first  half-hour. 
Sometimes  he'd  pretend  to  go  to  town  to  see  his  sister, 
when  he  would  stay  two  or  three  days  upstairs  in  a  room 


1 86  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

that  Horton  keeps  for  what  he  calls  his  cases — he  has  given 
the  room  the  name  of  his  ward — hospital-ward  he  means." 

"  Is  the  worthy  Mr.  Horton  a  member  of  the  meeting 
also,  my  good  landlady  ? " 

Mrs.  Horton  had  the  grace  to  color  ;  but  she  answered 
without  stammering,  habit  fortifying  us  in  moral  discrep- 
ancies much  more  serious  than  even  this. 

"  He  was,  and  I  don't  know  but  I  may  say  he  is  yet  ; 
though  he  hasn't  attended,  now,  for  more  than  two  years. 
The  question  got  to  be  between  meetin'  and  the  bar  ;  and 
the  bar  carried  the  day,  so  far  as  Horton  is  concerned. 
I've  held  out  better,  I  hope,  and  expect  to  gain  a  victory. 
It's  quite  enough  to  have  one  backslider  in  a  family,  I  tell 
my  husband,  squire." 

"A  sufficient  supply,  ma'am — quite  a  sufficiency.  So 
Peter  Goodwin  lay  in  your  house  drunk,  days  at  a  time  ? " 

"  I'm  sorry  to  say  he  did.  He  was  here  a  week  once, 
with  delirrum  tremus  on  him  ;  but  Horton  carried  him 
through  by  the  use  of  juleps  ;  for  that's  the  time  to  take 
'em,  everybody  says  ;  and  we  got  him  home  without  old 
Dolly's  knowing  that  he  hadn't  been  with  his  sister  that 
whole  time.  The  turn  satisfied  Peter  for  three  good 
months." 

"  Did  Peter  pay  as  he  went,  or  did  you  keep  a  score  ? " 

"Ready  money,  sir.  Catch  us  keeping  an  account  with 
a  man  when  his  wife  ruled  the  roast  !  No,  Peter  paid  like 
a  king,  for  every  mouthful  he  swallowed." 

"I  am  far  from  certain  that  the  comparison  is  a  good 
one,  kings  being  in  no  degree  remarkable  for  paying  their 
debts.  But  is  it  not  possible  that  Peter  may  have  set  his 
own  house  on  fire,  and  thus  have  caused  all  this  calamity, 
for  which  my  client  is  held  responsible?" 

"  I've  thought  that  over  a  good  deal  since  the  murder, 
squire,  but  don't  well  see  how  it  can  be  made  out.  Setting 
the  building  on  fire  is  simple  enough  ;  but  who  killed  the 
old  couple,  and  who  robbed  the  house,  unless  this  Mary 
Monson  did  both  ?  " 

"  The  case  has  its  difficulties,  no  doubt  ;  but  I  have 
known  the  day  to  dawn  after  a  darker  night  than  this.  I 
believe  that  Mrs.  Goodwin  and  her  husband  were  very 
nearly  of  the  same  height  ? " 

"  Exactly  ;  I've  see  them  measure,  back  to  back.  He 
was  a  very  short  man,  and  she  a  very  tall  woman  ! " 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  a  German  female  who  is 
said  to  have  lived  with  the  unfortunate  couple  ? " 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  187 

"  There  has  been  some  talk  of  such  a  person  since  the 
fire  ;  but  Dolly  Goodwin  kept  no  help.  She  was  too  stingy 
for  that ;  then  she  had  no  need  of  it,  being  very  strong  and 
stirring  for  her  time  of  life." 

**  Might  not  a  boarder,  like  Miss  Monson,  have  induced 
her  to  take  this  foreigner  into  her  family  for  a  few  weeks  ? 
The  nearest  neighbors,  those  who  would  be  most  likely  to 
know  all  about  it,  say  that  no  wages  were  given,  the 
woman  working  for  her  food  and  lodging." 

"Squire  Dunscomb,  you'll  never  make  it  out  that  any 
German  killed  Peter  and  his  wife." 

"  Perhaps  not  ;  though  even  that  is  possible.  Such, 
however,  is  not  the  object  of  my  present  inquiries — but, 
here  comes  my  associate  counsel,  and  I  will  take  another 
occasion  to  continue  this  conversation,  my  good  Mrs. 
Horton." 

Timms  entered  with  a  hurried  air.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  appeared  to  his  associate  and  old  master  to  be 
agitated.  Cold,  calculating,  and  cunning,  this  man  seldom 
permitted  himself  to  be  so  much  thrown  off  his  guard  as 
to  betray  emotion  ;  but  now  he  actually  cfid.  There  was 
a  tremor  in  his  form  that  extended  to  his  voice  ;  and  he 
seemed  afraid  to  trust  the  latter  even  in  the  customary 
salutations.  Nodding  his  head,  he  drew  a  chair  and  took 
his  seat. 

"  You  have  been  to  the  jail  ?  "  asked  Dunscomb. 

A  nod  was  the  answer. 

"  You  were  admitted,  and  had  an  interview  with  our 
client  ?" 

Nod  the  third  was  the  only  reply. 

"  Did  you  put  the  question  to  her,  as  I  desired  ? " 

"  I  did,  sir  ;  but  I  would  sooner  cross-examine  all  Dukes, 
than  undertake  to  get  anything  she  does  not  wish  to  tell, 
out  of  that  one  young  lady  !  " 

"  I  fancy  most  young  ladies  have  a  faculty  for  keeping 
such  matters  to  themselves  as  they  do  not  wish  to  reveal. 
Am  I  to  understand  that  you  got  no  answers  ?" 

"  I  really  do  not  know,  squire.  She  was  polite,  and 
obliging,  and  smiling — but,  somehow  or  other,  I  do  not 
recollect  her  replies." 

"  You  must  be  falling  in  love,  Timms,  to  return  with 
such  an  account,"  retorted  Dunscomb,  a  cold  but  very  sar- 
castic smile  passing  over  his  face.  "  Have  a  care,  sir  ;  'tis 
a  passion  that  makes  a  fool  of  a  man  sooner  than  any  other. 
I  do  not  think  there  is  much  danger  of  the  lady's  return- 

9 


1 88  THE   WAYS   OF  THE   HOUR. 

ing  your  flame  ;  unless,  indeed,  you  can  manage  to  make 
her  acquittal  a  condition  of  the  match." 

"  I  am  afraid — dreadfully  afraid,  her  acquittal  will  be  a 
very  desperate  affair,"  answered  Timms,  passing  his  hauds 
down  his  face,  as  if  to  wipe  away  his  weakness.  "The 
deeper  I  get  into  the  matter,  the  worse  it  appears!" 

'•Have  you  given  our  client  any  intimation  to  this  effect?' 

"  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  do  it.  She  is  just  as  composed, 
and  calm,  and  tranquil,  and  judicious — yes,  and  ingenious, 
as  if  she  were  only  the  counsel  in  this  affair  of  life  and 
death  ?  I  couldn't  distrust  so  much  tranquillity.  I  wish 
I  knew  her  history  ! " 

"  My  interrogatories  pointed  out  the  absolute  necessity 
of  her  furnishing  us  with  the  means  of  enlightening  the 
court  and  jury  on  that  most  material  point,  should  the 
worst  come  to  the  worst." 

"  1  know  they  did,  sir  ;  but  they  no  more  got  at  the 
truth  than  my  own  pressing  questions.  I  should  like  to 
see  that  lady  on  the  stand,  above  all  things  !  I  think  she 
would  bother  saucy  Williams,  and  fairly  put  him  out  of 
countenance.  By  the  way,  sir,  I  hear  he  is  employed 
against  us  by  the  nephew,  who  is  quite  furious  about  the 
loss  of  the  money,  which  he  pretends  was  a  much  larger 
sum  than  the  neighborhood  had  commonly  supposed." 

"  I  have  always  thought  the  relations  would  employ 
some  one  to  assist  the  public  prosecutor  in  a  case  of  this 
magnitude.  The  theory  of  our  government  is  that  the 
public  virtue  will  see  the  laws  executed,  but  in  my  expe- 
rience, Timms,  this  public  virtue  is  a  very  acquiescent  and 
indifferent  quality,  seldom  troubling  itself  even  to  abate 
a  nuisance,  until  its  own  nose  is  offended,  or  its  own  pocket 
damaged." 

"  Roguery  is  always  more  active  than  honesty — I  found 
that  out  long  since,  squire.  But,  it  is  nat'ral  for  a  public 
prosecutor  not  to  press  one  on  trial  for  life,  and  the  ac- 
cused a  woman,  closer  than  circumstances  seem  to  demand. 
It  is  true,  that  popular  feeling  is  strong  ag'in  Mary  Mon- 
son  ;  but  it  was  well  in  the  nephew  to  fee  such  a  bull-dog 
as  Williams,  if  he  wishes  to  make  a  clean  sweep  of  it." 

"  Does  our  client  know  this  ?" 

"Certainly  ;  she  seems  to  know  all  about  her  case,  and 
has  a  strange  pleasure  in  entering  into  the  mode  and  man- 
ner  of  her  defence.  It  would  do  your  heart  good,  sir,  to 
see  the  manner  in  which  she  listens,  and  advises,  and  con- 
sults. She's  wonderful  handsome  at  such  times  !  " 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  189 

"You  are  in  love,  Timms  ;  and  I  shall  have  to  engage 
some  other  assistant.  First  Jack,  and  then  you  !  Umph  ! 
This  is  a  strange  world,  of  a  verity." 

"  I  don't  think  it's  quite  as  bad  with  me  as  that,"  said 
Timms,  this  time  rubbing  his  shaggy  eyebrows  as  if  to  as- 
certain whether  or  not  he  were  dreaming,  "  though  I  must 
own  I  do  not  feel  precisely  as  I  did  a  month  since.  I  wish 
you  would  see  our  client  yourself,  sir,  and  make  her  un- 
derstand how  important  it  is  to  her  interest  that  we  should 
know  something  of  her  past  history." 

"  Do  you  think  her  name  is  rightfully  set  forth  in  the 
indictment  ? 

"  By  no  means — but,  as  she'  has  called  herself  Mary 
Monson,  she  cannot  avail  herself  of  her  own  acts." 

"  Certainly  not — I  asked  merely  as  a  matter  of  informa- 
tion. She  must  be  made  to  feel  the  necessity  of  fortifying 
us  on  that  particular  point,  else  it  will  go  far  toward  con- 
victing her.  Jurors  do  not  like  aliases." 

"  She  knows  this  already  ;  for  I  have  laid  the  matter  be- 
fore her,  again  and  again.  Nothing  seems  to  move  her, 
however  ;  and  as  to  apprehension,  she  appears  to  be  above 
all  fear." 

"  This  is  most  extraordinary  !  Have  you  interrogated 
the  maid  ? " 

"  How  can  I  ?  She  speaks  no  English  ;  and  I  can't  utter 
a  syllable  in  any  foreign  tongue." 

"  Ha  !  Does  she  pretend  to  that  much  ignorance  ? 
Marie  Moulin  speaks  very  intelligible  English,  as  I  know 
from  having  conversed  with  her  often.  She  is  a  clever, 
prudent  Swiss,  from  one  of  the  French  cantons,  and  is 
known  for  her  fidelity  and  trustworthiness.  With  me  she 
will  hardly  venture  to  practise  this  deception.  If  she  has 
feigned  ignorance  of  English,  it  was  in  order  to  keep  her 
secrets." 

Timms  admitted  the  probability  of  its  being  so  ;  then  he 
entered  into  a  longer  and  more  minute  detail  of  the  state 
of  the  case.  In  the  first  place,  he  admitted  that,  in  spite 
of  all  his  own  efforts  to  the  contrary,  the  popular  feeling 
was  setting  strong  against  their  client.  "  Frank  Williams," 
as  he  called  the  saucy  person  who  bore  that  name,  had 
entered  into  the  struggle  might  and  main,  and  was  making 
his  customary  impressions. 

"His  fees  must  be  liberal,"  continued  Timms,  "  and  I 
should  think  are  in  some  way  dependent  on  the  result  ;  for 
I  never  saw  the  fellow  more  engaged  in  my  life." 


190  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   PI  OUR. 

11  This  precious  Code  does  allow  such  a  bargain  to  be 
made  between  the  counsel  and  his  client,  or  any  other 
bargain  that  is  not  downright  conspiracy,"  returned  Duns- 
comb  ;  "  but  I  do  not  see  what  is  to  be  shared,  even  should 
Mary  Monson  be  hanged." 

"  Do  not  speak  in  that  manner  of  so  agreeable  a  per- 
son," cried  Timms,  actually  manifesting  emotion — "it  is 
unpleasant  to  think  of.  It  is  true,  a  conviction  will  not 
bring  money  to  the  prosecution,  unless  it  should  bring  to 
light  some  of  Mrs.  Goodwin's  hoards." 

Dunscomb  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  his  associate  pro- 
ceeded with  his  narrative.  Two  of  the  reporters  were 
offended,  and  their  allusions  to  the  cause,  which  were 
almost  daily  in  their  respective  journals,  were  ill-natured, 
and  calculated  to  do  great  harm,  though  so  far  covered 
as  to  wear  an  air  of  seeming  candor.  The  natural  effect 
of  this  "constant  dropping,"  in  a  community  accustom- 
ed to  refer  everything  to  the  common  mind,  had  been 
"  to  wear  away  the  stone."  Many  of  those  who,  at  first 
had  been  disposed  to  sustain  the  accused,  unwilling 
to  believe  that  one  so  young,  so  educated,  so  modest  in 
deportment,  so  engaging  in  manners,  and  of  the  gentler 
sex,  could  possibly  be  guilty  of  the  crimes  imputed,  were 
now  changing  their  opinions,  under  the  control  of  this 
potent  and  sinister  mode  of  working  on  the  public  senti- 
ment. The  agents  employed  by  Timms  to  counteract  this 
malign  influence  had  failed  of  their  object  ;  they  working 
merely  for  money,  while  those  of  the  other  side  were  re- 
senting what  they  regarded  as  an  affront. 

The  family  of  the  Burtons,  the  nearest  neighbors  of  the 
Goodwins,  no  longer  received  Timms  with  the  frank  cor- 
diality that  they  had  manifested  in  the  earlier  period  of 
his  intercourse  with  them.  Then,  they  had  been  com- 
municative, eager  to  tell  all  that  they  knew,  and,  as  the 
lawyer  fancied,  even  a  little  more  ;  while  they  were  now 
reserved,  uneasy,  and  indisposed  to  let  one- half  of  the  real 
facts  within  their  knowledge  be  known.  Timms  thought 
they  had  been  worked  upon,  and  that  they  might  expect 
some  hostile  and  important  testimony  from  that  quarter. 
The  consultation  ended  by  an  exclamation  from  Duns- 
comb  on  the  subject  of  the  abuses  that  were  so  fast  creep- 
ing into  the  administration  of  justice,  rendering  the  boasted 
freemen  of  America,  though  in  a  different  mode,  little 
more  likely  to  receive  its  benefit  from  an  unpolluted 
stream,  than  they  who  live  under  the  worn  out  and  con- 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  igi 

fec?edly  corrupt  systems  of  the  old  world.  Such  is  the 

tendency   of   things,  and    such  one  of   the  ways   of   the 
hour. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

% 

Are  those  hef  ribs  through  which  the  sun 
Did  peer,  as  *hrough  a  gate  ? 
And  is  that  woman  all  her  crew  ? 
Is  that  a  Death,  and  are  there  two  ? 
Is  Death  that  woman's  mate  ? — The  Phantom  Ship. 

AFTER  a  short  preparatory  interview  with  Anna  Updyke, 
Dunscomb  repaired  to  the  jail,  whither  he  had  already  dis- 
patched a  note  to  announce  his  intended  visit.  Good  Mrs. 
Gott  received  him  with  earnest  attention  ;  for,  as  the  day 
of  trial  approached,  this  kind-hearted  woman  manifested  a 
warmer  and  warmer  interest  in  the  fate  of  her  prisoner. 

"You  are  welcome,  Mr.  Dunscomb,"  said  this  well- 
disposed  and  gentle  turnkey,  as  she  led  the  way  to  the 
door  that  opened  on  the  gallery  of  the  jail ;  "  and  welcome, 
again  and  again.  I  do  wish  this  business  may  fall  into 
good  hands  ;  and  I'm  afraid  Timms  is  not  getting  on  with 
it  as  well  as  he  might." 

"  My  associate  has  the  reputation  of  being  a  skilful 
attorney  and  a  good  manager,  Mrs.  Gott." 

"  So  he  has,  Mr.  Dunscomb  ;  but  somehow — I  scarce 
know  how  myself — but  somehow,  he  doesn't  get  along  with 
this  cause,  as  well  as  I  have  known  him  to  get  along  with 
others.  The  excitement  in  the  county  is  terrible  ;  and 
Gott  has  had  seven  anonymous  letters  to  let  him  know 
that  if  Mary  Monson  escape,  his  hopes  from  the  public  are 
gone  forever.  I  tell  him  not  to  mind  such  contemptible 
things  ;  but  he  is  frightened  half  out  of  his  wits.  It  takes 
good  courage,  squire,  to  treat  an  anonymous  letter  with 
the  contempt  it  merits." 

"  It  sometimes  does,  indeed.  Then  you  think  we  shall 
have  up-hill  work  with  the  defence  ?" 

•'Dreadful!  I've  never  known  a  cause  so  generally 
tried  out  of  doors  as  this.  What  makes  the  matter  more 
provoking,  Mary  Monson  might  have  had  it  all  her  own 
way,  if  she  had  been  so  minded  ;  for,  at  firs,t,  she  was 
popularity  itself  with  all  the  neighbors.  Folks  nat'rally 
like  beauty,  and  elegance,  and  youth ;  and  Mary  has 
enough  of  each  to  make  friends  anywhere." 


I92  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

"What!  with  the  ladies?"  said  Dunscomb,  smiling*, 
"  Surely  not  with  your  sex,  Mrs.  Gott  ? " 

"Yes,  with  the  women,  as  well  as  with  the  men,  if  she 
would  only  use  her  means — but  she  stands  in  her  own 
light.  Crowds  have  been  round  the  outer  windows  to  hear 
her  play  on  the  harp — they  tell  me  she  uses  the  real  Jew's- 
harp,  Squire  Dunscomb  ;  such  as  Royal  David  used  to 
play  on  ;  and  that  she  has  great  skill.  There  is  a  German 
in  the  village  \vho  knows  all  about  music,  and  he  says 
Mary  Monson  has  been  excellently  taught — by  the  very 
best  masters." 

"  It  is  extraordinary  ;  yet  it  would  seem  to  be  so.  Will 
you  have  the  goodness  to  open  the  door,  Mrs.  Gott  ?" 

"With  all  my  heart,"  answered  this,  in  one  sense,  very 
singular  turnkey,  though  in  another,  a  very  every-day 
character,  jingling  her  keys,  but  not  taking  a  forward  step 
to  comply  ;  "  Mary  Monson  expects  you.  I  suppose,  sir, 
you  know  that  saucy  Frank  Williams  is  retained  by  the 
friends  of  the  Goodwins  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Timms  has  told  me  as  much  as  that.  I  cannot  say, 
however,  that  I  have  any  particular  apprehension  of  en- 
countering Mr.  Williams." 

"  No,  sir  ;  not  you,  I'll  engage,  not  in  open  court  ;  but 
out  of  doors  he's  very  formidable." 

"  I  trust  this  cause,  one  involving  the  life  and  reputation 
of  a  very  interesting  female,  will  not  be  tried  out  of  doors, 
Mrs.  Gott.  The  issue  is  too  serious  for  such  a  tribunal." 

"  So  a  body  would  think  ;  but  a  great  deal  of  law  busi- 
ness is  settled,  they  tell  me,  under  the  sheds,  and  in  the 
streets,  and  in  the  taverns  ;  most  especially  in  the  juror's 
bedrooms,  and  settled  in  a  way  it  ought  not  to  be." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  nearer  right  than  every  just-minded 
person  could  wish.  But  we  will  talk  of  this  another  time 
— the  door,  if  you  please,  now." 

"  Yes,  sir,  in  one  minute.  It  would  be  so  easy  for  Mary 
Monson  to  be  just  as  popular  with  everybody  in  Biberry 
as  she  is  with  me.  Let  her  come  to  one  of  the  side  win- 
dows of  the  gallery  this  evening,  and  show  herself  to  the 
folks,  and  play  on  that  harp  of  hers,  and  Royal  David 
himself  could  not  have  been  better  liked  by  the  Jews  of 
old  than  she  would  soon  be  by  our  people  hereabouts." 

"  It  is  probably  now  too  late.  The  court  sits  in  a  few 
days  ;  and  the  mischief,  if  any  there  be,  must  be  done." 

"  No  such  thing,  begging  your  pardon,  squire.  There's 
that  in  Mary  Monson  that  can  carry  anything  she  pleases. 


THE   IV AYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  193 

Folks  now  think  her  proud  and  consequential,  because  she 
will  not  just  stand  at  one  of  the  grates  and  let  them  look 
at  her  a  little." 

"  I  am  afraid,  Mrs.  Gott,  your  husband  has  taught  you  a 
greater  respect  for  those  you  call  *  the  people,'  than  they 
deserve  to  receive  at  your  hands." 

"  Gott  is  dreadfully  afraid  of  them " 

"  And  he  is  se.t  apart  by  the  laws  to  see  them  executed 
on  these  very  people,"  interrupted  Dunscomb,  with  a 
sneer  ;  "  to  levy  on  their  possessions,  keep  the  peace,  en- 
force the  laws  ;  in  short,  to  make  them  fee/,  whenever  it  is 
necessary,  that  they  ^re  governed  !  " 

"  Gott  says  '  that  the  people  will  rule.'  That's  his  great 
saying." 

"  Will  seem  to  rule  is  true  enough  ;  but  the  most  that  the 
mass  of  anv  nation  can  do,  is  occasionally  to  check  the  pro- 
ceedings of  their  governors.  The  every-day  work  is  most 
effectually  done  by  a  favored  few  here,  just  as  it  is  done  by 
a  favored  few  everywhere  else.  The  door,  now,  if  you 
please,  my  good  Mrs.  Gott." 

"  Yes,  sir,  in  one  minute.  Dear  me  !  how  odd  that  you 
should  think  so.  Why,  I  thought  that  you  were  a  Demo- 
crat, Mr.  Dunscomb  ?  " 

"  So  I  am,  as  between  forms  of  government  ;  but  I  never 
was  fool  enough  to  think  that  the  people  can  really  rule, 
further  than  by  occasional  checks  and  rebukes." 

"  What  would  Gott  say  to  this  ?  Why,  he  is  so  much  afraid 
of  the  people  that  he  tells  me  he  never  does  anything,  with- 
eut  fancying  some  one  is  looking  over  his  shoulders." 

"  Ay,  that  is  a  very  good  rule  for  a  man  who  wishes  to 
be  chosen  sheriff.  To  be  a  bishop,  it  would  be  better  to 
remember  the  omniscient  eye." 

"I  do  declare — oh  !  Gott  never  thinks  of  that,  more'sthe 
pity,"  applying  the  key  to  the  lock.  "  When  you  wish  to 
come  out,  squire,  just  call  at  this  grate  " — then  dropping 
her  voice  to  a  whisper — "  try  and  persuade  Mary  Monson 
to  show  herself  at  one  of  the  side  grates." 

But  Dunscomb  entered  the  gallery  with  no  such  in- 
tention. As  he  was  expected,  his  reception  was  natural 
and  easy.  The  prisoner  was  carefully  though  simply 
dressed,  and  she  appeared  all  the  better,  most  probably, 
from  some  of  the  practised  arts  of  her  woman.  Marie 
Moulin,  herself,  kept  modestly  within  the  cell,  where,  in- 
deed, she  passed  most  of  her  time,  leaving  the  now  quite 
handsomely  furnished  gallery  to  the  uses  of  her  mistress. 


1 94  THE   WAYS    OF   THE  HOUR. 

After  the  first  few  words  of  salutation,  Dunscomb  took 
the  chair  he  was  invited  to  occupy,  a  good  deal  at  a  loss 
how  to  address  a  woman  of  his  companion's  mien  and 
general  air  as  a  culprit  about  to  be  tried  for  her  life.  He 
first  attempted  words  of  course. 

"  I  see  you  have  had  a  proper  regard  to  your  comforts  in 
this  miserable  place,"  he  remarked. 

"  Do  not  call  it  by  so  forbidding  a  name,  Mr.  Dunscomb," 
was  the  answer,  given  with  a  sorrowful,  but  exceedingly 
winning  smile — "  it  is  my  place  of  refuge" 

"  Do  you  still  persist  in  refusing  to  tell  me  against  what, 
Miss  Monson  ?" 

"  I  persist  in  nothing  that  ought  not  to  be  done,  I  hope. 
At  another  time  I  may  be  more  communicative.  But,  if 
what  Mrs.  Gott  tells  me  is  correct,  I  need  these  walls  to 
prevent  my  being  torn  to  pieces  by  those  she  calls  the 
people  outside." 

Dunscomb  looked  with  amazement  at  the  being  who 
quietly  made  this  remark  on  her  own  situation.  Of  beau- 
tiful form,  with  all  the  signs  of  a  gentle  origin  and  refined 
education,  young,  handsome,  delicate,  nay,  dainty  of  speech 
and  acts,  there  she  sat,  indicted  for  arson  and  murder,  and 
about  to  be  tried  for  her  life,  with  the  composure  of  a 
lady  in  her  drawing-room  !  The  illuminated  expression 
that,  at  times,  rendered  her  countenance  so  very  remark- 
able, had  now  given  place  to  one  of  sobered  sadness ; 
though  apprehension  did  not  appear  to  be  in  the  least  pre- 
dominant. 

"  The  sheriff  has  instilled  into  his  wife  a  very  healthful 
respect  for  those  she  calls  the  people— healthful,  for  one 
who  looks  to  their  voices  for  his  support.  This  is  very 
American." 

"  I  suppose  it  to  be  much  the  same  everywhere.  I  have 
been  a  good  deal  abroad,  Mr.  Dunscomb,  and  cannot  say  I 
perceive  any  great  difference  in  men." 

'*  Nor  is  there  any,  though  circumstances  cause  different 
modes  of  betraying  their  weaknesses,  as  well  as  what  there 
is  in  them  that  is  good.  But  the  people  in  this  country, 
Miss  Monson,  possess  a  power  that,  in  your  case,  is  not  to 
be  despised.  As  Mrs.  Gott  would  intimate,  it  maybe  pru- 
dent for  you  to  remember  that.'" 

"  Surely  you  would  not  have  me  make  an  exhibition  of 
myself,  Mr.  Dunscomb,  at  the  window  of  a  jail  !  " 

"  As  far  from  that  as  possible.  I  would  have  you  do 
nothing  that  is  unbecoming  one  of  your  habits  and  opin- 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  195 

ioiib  —nothing,  in  short,  that  would  be  improper,  as  a  means 
of  defence,  by  one  accused  and  tried  by  the  State.  Never- 
theless, it  is  always  wiser  to  make  friends  than  to  make 
enemies." 

Mary  Monson  lowered  her  eyes  to  the  carpet,  and  Duns- 
comb  perceived  that  her  thoughts  wandered.  They  were 
not  on  her  critical  situation.  It  was  indispensably  neces- 
sary, however,  that  he  should  be  explicit,  and  he  did  not 
shrink  from  his  duty.  Gently,  but  distinctly,  and  with  a 
clearness  that  a  far  less  gifted  mind  than  that  of  the  ac- 
cused could  comprehend,  he  now  opened  the  subject  of  the 
approaching  trial.  A  few  words  were  first  ventured  on  its 
grave  character,  and  on  the  vast  importance  it  was  in  all 
respects  to  his  client ;  to  which  the  latter  listened  atten 
tively,  but  without  the  slightest  visible  alarm.  Next,  he 
alluded  to  the  stories  that  were  in  circulation  the  impres- 
sion they  were  producing,  and  the  danger  there  was  that 
her  rights  might  be  affected  by  these  sinister  opinions. 

"  But  I  am  to  be  tried  by  a  judge  and  a  jury,  they  tell 
me,"  said  Mary  Monson,  when  Dunscomb  ceased  speaking 
— "  they  will  come  from  a  distance,  and  will  not  be  preju- 
diced against  me  by  all  this  idle  gossip." 

"  Judges  and  jurors  are  only  men,  and  nothing  goes 
further  with  less  effort  than  your  *  idle  gossip.'  Nothing 
is  repeated  accurately,  or  it  is  very  rare  to  find  it  so  ;  and 
those  who  only  half  comprehend  a  subject  are  certain  to 
relate  with  exaggerations  and  false  colorings." 

"  How,  then,  can  the  electors  discover  the  real  charac- 
ters of  those  for  whom  they  are  required  to  vote  ? "  de- 
manded Mary  Monson,  smiling  ;  "or  get  just  ideas  of  the 
measures  they  are  to  support  or  to  oppose  ? " 

"  Half  the  time  they  do  neither.  It  exceeds  all  our  pres- 
ent means,  at  least,  to  diffuse  sufficient  information  for  that. 
The  consequence  is  that  appearances  and  assertions  are 
made  to  take  the  place  of  facts.  The  mental  food  of  the 
bulk  of  this  nation  is  an  opinion  simulated  by  the  artful  to 
answer  their  own  purposes.  But  the  power  of  the  masses 
is  getting  to  be  very  formidable — more  formidable  in  a  way 
never  contemplated  by  those  who  formed  the  institutions, 
than  in  any  way  that  was  foreseen.  Among  other  things, 
they  begin  to  hold  the  administration  of  justice  in  the  hol- 
low of  their  hands." 

"  I  am  not  to  be  tried  by  the  masses,  I  trust.  If  so,  my 
fate  would  be  very  hard,  I  fear,  judging  from  what  I  hear 
in  my  little  excursions  in  the  neighborhood." 


196  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

"  Excursions,  Miss  Monson  !  "  repeated  the  astonished 
Dunscomb. 

"  Excursions,  sir  ;  I  make  one  for  the  benefit  of  air  and 
exercise,  every  favorable  night,  at  this  fine  season  of  the 
year.  Surely  you  would  not  have  me  cooped  up  here  in  a 
jail,  without  the  relief  of  a  little  fresh  air  ?" 

"  With  the  knowledge  and  concurrence  of  the  sheriff,  or 
that  of  his  wife  ?" 

"  Perhaps  not  strictly  with  those  of  either ;  though  I  sus- 
pect good  Mrs.  Gott  has  an  inkling  of  my  movements.  It 
would  be  too  hard  to  deny  myself  air  and  exercise,  both  of 
which  are  very  necessary  to  my  health,  because  I  am 
charged  with  these  horrid  crimes." 

Dunscomb  passed  a  hand  over  his  brow,  as  if  he  desired 
to  clear  his  mental  vision  by  friction  of  the  physical,  and, 
for  a  moment,  sat  absolutely  lost  in  wonder.  He  scarce 
knew  whether  he  was  or  was  not  dreaming. 

"  And  you  have  actually  been  outside  of  these  walls,  Miss 
Monson  !  "  he  exclaimed,  at  length. 

"  Twenty  times,  at  least.  Why  should  I  stay  within 
them,  when  the  means  of  quitting  them  are  always  in  my 
power  ? " 

As  Mary  Monson  said  this,  she  showed  her  counsel  a  set 
of  keys  that  corresponded  closely  with  those  which  good 
Mrs.  Gott  was  in  the  habit  of  using  whenever  she  came  to 
open  the  door  of  that  particular  gallery.  A  quiet  smile 
betrayed  how  little  the  prisoner  fancied  there  was  anything 
remarkable  in  all  this. 

"  Are  you  aware,  Miss  Monson,  it  is  felony  to  assist  a 
prisoner  to  escape  ?" 

"  So  they  tell  me,  Mr.  Dunscomb  ;  but  as  I  have  not  es- 
caped, or  made  any  attempt  to  escape,  and  have  returned 
regularly  and  in  good  season  to  my  jail,  no  one  can  be 
harmed  for  what  I  have  done.  Such,  at  least,  is  the  opin- 
ion of  Mr.  Timrns." 

Dunscomb  did  not  like  the  expression  of  face  that  ac- 
companied this  speech.  It  might  be  too  much  to  say  it 
was  absolutely  cunning  ;  but  there  was  so  much  of  the 
manoeuvring  of  one  accustomed  to  manage  in  it,  that  it 
awakened  the  unpleasant  distrust  that  existed  in  the  earlier 
days  of  his  intercourse  with  this  singular  young  woman, 
and  which  had  now  been  dormant  for  several  weeks.  There 
was,  however,  so  much  of  the  cold  polish  of  the  upper 
classes  in  his  client's  manner,  that  the  offending  expression 
was  thrown  off  from  the  surface  of  her  looks,  as  light  is 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  197 

reflected  from  the  ground  and  silvered  mirror.  At  the 
very  instant  which  succeeded  this  seeming  gleam  of  cun- 
ning, all  was  calm,  quiet,  refined,  gentle,  and  without  ap- 
parent emotion  in  the  countenance  of  the  accused. 

"  Timms  !  "  repeated  Dunscomb,  slowly.  "  So  he  has 
known  of  this,  and  I  dare  say  has  had  an  agency  in  bring- 
ing it  about !" 

"As  you  say  it  is  felony  to  aid  a  prisoner  to  escape,  I 
can  say  neither  yes  nor  no  to  this,  Mr.  Dunscomb,  lest  I 
betray  an  accomplice.  I  should  rather  think,  however, 
that  Mr.  Timms  is  not  a  person  to  be  easily  caught  in  the 
meshes  of  the  law." 

Again  the  counsellor  disliked  the  expression  ;  though 
Mary  Monson  looked  unusually  pretty  at  that  particular 
moment.  He  did  not  pause  to  analyze  his  feelings  not- 
withstanding, but  rather  sought  to  relieve  his  own  curi- 
osity, which  had  been  a  good  deal  aroused  by  the  informa 
tion  just  received. 

"  As  you  have  not  hesitated  to  tell  me* of  what  you  call 
your  'excursions,'  Miss  Monson,"  he  continued,  ''perhaps 
you  will  so  far  extend  your  confidence  as  to  let  me  know 
where  you  go  ? " 

"•I  can  have  no  objection  to  that.  Mr.  Timms  tells  me 
the  law  cannot  compel  a  counsel  to  betray  his  client's  se- 
crets ;  and  of  course  I  am  safe  with  you.  Stop — I  have  a 
duty  to  perform  that  has  been  too  long  delayed.  Gentle- 
men of  your  profession  are  entitled  to  their  fees  ;  and,  as 
yet,  I  have  been  very  remiss  in  this  respect.  Will  you  do 
me  the  favor,  Mr.  Dunscomb,  to  accept  that,  which  you 
will  see  has  been  some  time  in  readiness  to  be  offered  ? " 
Dunscomb  was  too  much  of  a  professional  man  to 
feel  any  embarrassment  at  this  act  of  justice  ;  but  he 
took  the  letter,  broke  the  seal,  even  before  his  client's 
eyes,  and  held  up  for  examination  a  note  for  a  thousand 
dollars.  Prepared  as  he  was  by  Timm's  account  for  a  lib- 
eral reward,  this  large  sum  took  him  a  good  deal  by  surprise. 
"  This  is  an  unusual  fee,  Miss  Monson  ! "  he  exclaimed  ; 
"  one  much  more  considerable  than  I  should  expect  from 
you,  were  I  working  for  remuneration,  as  in  your  case  I 
certainly  am  not." 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  law  look  for  their  reward,  I  believe, 
as  much  as  others.  We  do  not  live  in  the  times  of  chivalry, 
when  gallant  men  assisted  distressed  damsels  as  a  matter 
of  honor  ;  but  in  what  has  well  been  termed  a  '  bank-note 
world.'  " 


198  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  set  myself  up  above  the  fair  prac- 
tices of  my  profession,  and  am  as  ready  to  accept  a  fee  as 
any  man  in  Nassau  Street.  Nevertheless,  I  took  your  case 
in  hand  with  a  very  different  motive.  It  would  pain  me 
to  be  obliged  to  work  for  a  fee,  on  the  present  unhappy 
occasion." 

Mary  Monson  looked  grateful,  and  for  a  minute  she 
seemed  to  be  reflecting  on  some  scheme  by  which  she  could 
devise  a  substitute  for  the  old-fashioned  mode  of  proceed- 
ing in  a  case  of  this  sort. 

"You  have  a  niece,  Mr.  Dunscomb,"  she  at  length  ex- 
claimed— "as  Marie  Moulin  informs  me?  A  charming 
girl,  and  who  is  about  to  be  married  ?" 

The  lawyer  assented  by  an  inclination  of  the  head,  fas- 
tening his  penetrating  black  eyes  on  the  full,  expressive, 
grayish-blue  ones  of  his  companion. 

"  You  intend  to  return  to  town  this  evening  ? "  said  Mary 
Monson,  in  continuation. 

"  Such  is  my  intention.  I  came  here  to-day  to  confer 
with  you  and  Mr.  Timms,  on  the  subject  of  the  trial,  to 
see  how  matters  stand  on  the  spot,  by  personal  observa- 
tion, and  to  introduce  to  you  one  who  feels  the  deepest 
interest  in  your  welfare,  and  desires  most  earnestly  to  seek 
your  acquaintance." 

The  prisoner  was  now  silent,  interrogating  with  her 
singularly  expressive  eyes. 

"It  is  Anna  Updyke,  the  step-daughter  of  my  nearest 
friend,  Doctor  McBrain  ;  and  a  very  sincere,  warm-hearted, 
and  excellent  girl." 

"  I  have  heard  of  her,  too,"  returned  Mary  Monson,  with 
a  smile  so  strange,  that  her  counsel  wished  she  had  not 
given  this  demonstration  of  a  feeling  that  seemed  out  of 
place,  under  all  the  circumstances.  "They  tell  me  she  is 
a  most  charming  girl,  and  that  she  is  a  very  great  favorite 
with  your  nephew,  the  young  gentleman  whom  I  have 
styled  my  legal  vedette." 

"  Vedette  !    That  is  a  singular  term  to  be  used  by  you  !  " 

"Oh!  you  will  remember  that  I  have  been  much  in 
countries  where  such  persons  abound.  I  must  have  caught 
the  word  from  some  of  the  young  soldiers  of  Europe.  But, 
Mr.  John  VVilmeter  is  an  admirer  of  the  young  lady  you 
have  named  ? " 

"  I  hope  he  is.  I  know  of  no  one  with  whom  I  think  he 
would  be  more  likely  to  be  happy.'1 

Dunscomb  spoke  earnestly,  and  at  such  times  his  man- 


THE   WAYS    OF    THE   HOUR.  199 

ner  was  singularly  sincere  and  impressive.  It  was  this  ap- 
pearance of  feeling  and  nature  that  gave  him  the  power 
he  possessed  over  juries ;  and  it  may  be  said  to  have  made 
no  small  part  of  his  fortune.  Mary  Monson  seemed  to  be 
surprised  ;  and  she  fastened  her  remarkable  eyes  on  the 
uncle,  in  a  way  that  might  have  admitted  of  different  in- 
terpretations. Her  lips  moved  as  if  she  spoke  to  herself  \ 
and  the  smile  that  succeeded  was  both  mild  and  sad. 

"  To  be  sure,"  added  the  prisoner,  slowly,  "  my  inform- 
ation is  not  on  the  very  best  authority,  coming,  as  it  does, 
from  a  servant — but  Marie  Moulin  is  both  discreet  and  ob 
servant." 

"  She  is  tolerably  well  qualified  to  speak  of  Anna  Up 
dyke,  having  seen  her  almost  daily  for  the  last  two  years, 
But  we  are  all  surprised  that  you  should  know  anything  oi 
this  young  woman." 

"  I  know  her  precisely  as  she  is  known  to  your  niece 
and  Miss  Updyke — in  other  words,  as  a  maid  who  is 
much  esteemed  by  those  she  serves — but,"  apparently 
wishing  to  change  the  discourse — "  we  are  forgetting 
the  purpose  of  your  visit,  all  this  time,  Mr.  Dunscomb. 
Do  me  the  favor  to  write  your  address  in  town,  and  thai 
of  Doctor  McBrain  on  this  card,  and  we  will  pioceed  to 
business." 

Dunscomb  did  as  desired,  when  he  opened  on  the  de- 
tails that  were  the  object  of  his  little  journey.  As  had 
been  the  case  in  all  his  previous  interviews  with  her,  Mary 
Monson  surprised  him  with  the  coolness  with  which  she 
spoke  of  an  issue  that  involved  her  own  fate,  for  life  or  for 
death.  While  she  carefully  abstained  from  making  any 
allusion  to  circumstances  that  might  betray  her  previous 
history,  she  shrunk  from  no  inquiry  that  bore  on  the  acts 
of  which  she  had  been  accused.  Every  question  put  by 
Dunscomb  that  related  to  the  murders  and  the  arson,  was 
answered  frankly  and  freely,  there  being  no  wish  apparent 
to  conceal  the  minutest  circumstances.  She  made  several 
exceedingly  shrewd  and  useful  suggestions  on  the  subject 
of  the  approaching  trial,  pointing  out  defects  in  the  testi- 
mony against  her,  and  reasoning  with  singular  acuteness 
on  particular  facts  that  were  known  to  be  much  relied  on 
by  the  prosecution.  We  shall  not  reveal  these  details  any 
further  in  this  stage  of  our  narrative,  for  they  will  neces- 
sarily appear  at  length  in  our  subsequent  pages  ;  but  shall 
confine  ourselves  to  a  few  of  those  remarks  that  may  be 
better  given  at  present. 


200  THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

"  I  do  not  know,  Mr.  Dunscomb,"  Mary  Monson  sud 
denly  said,  while  the  subject  of  her  trial  was  yet  under  dis« 
cussion,  "  that  I  have  ever  mentioned  to  you  the  fact  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Goodwin  were  not  happy  together.  One 
would  think,  from  what  was  said  at  the  time  of  the  inquest, 
that  they  were  a  very  affectionate  and  contented  couple  ; 
but  my  own  observation,  during  the  short  time  I  was 
under  their  roof,  taught  me  better.  The  husband  drank, 
and  the  wife  was  avaricious  and  very  quarrelsome.  I  am 
afraid,  sir,  there  are  few  really  happy  couples  to  be  found 
on  earth  ! " 

"  If  you  knew  McBrain  better,  you  would  not  say  that, 
my  dear  Miss  Monson,"  answered  the  counsellor  with  a  sort 
of  glee — "  there's  a  husband  for  you  ! — a  fellow  who  is  not 
only  happy  with  one  wife,  but  who  is  happy  with  three  ^  as 
he  will  tell  you  himself." 

"  Not  all  at  the  same  time,  I  hope,  sir  ? " 

Dunscomb  did  justice  to  his  friend's  character,  by  relat- 
ing how  the  matter  really  stood  ;  after  which  he  asked  per- 
mission to  introduce  Anna  Updyke.  Mary  Monson  seemed 
startled  at  this  request,  and  asked  several  questions,  which 
induced  her  counsel  to  surmise  that  she  was  fearful  of 
being  recognized.  Nor  was  Dunscomb  pleased  with  all 
the  expedients  adopted  by  his  client  in  order  to  extract 
information  from  him.  He  thought  they  slightly  indicated 
cunning,  a  quality  that  he  might  be  said  to  abhor.  Ac- 
customed as  he  was  to  all  the  efforts  of  ingenuity  in  illus- 
trating a  principle  or  maintaining  a  proposition,  he  had 
always  avoided  everything  like  sophistry  and  falsehood. 
This  weakness  on  the  part  of  Mary  Monson,  however,  was 
soon  forgotten  in  the  graceful  manner  in  which  she  ac- 
quiesced in  the  wish  of  the  stranger  to  be  admitted.  The 
permission  was  finally  accorded,  as  if  an  honor  were  re- 
ceived, with  the  tact  of  a  female  and  the  easy  dignity  of  a 
gentlewoman. 

Anna  Updyke  possessed  a  certain  ardor  of  character  that 
had  more  than  once  given  her  prudent  and  sagacious 
mother  uneasiness,  and  which  sometimes  led  her  into  the 
commission  of  acts,  always  innocent  in  themselves,  and 
perfectly  under  the  restraint  of  principles,  which  the  world 
would  have  been  apt  to  regard  as  imprudent.  Such,  how- 
ever, was  far  from  being  her  reputation  ;  her  modesty,  and 
the  diffidence  with  which  she  regarded  herself,  being 
amply  sufficient  to  protect  her  from  the  common  observa- 
tion, even  while  most  beset  by  the  weakness  named.  Her 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  201 

love  for  John  Wilmeter  was  so  disinterested,  or  to  herself 
so  seemed  to  be,  that  she  fancied  she  could  even  assist  in 
bringing  about  his  union  with  another  woman,  were  that 
necessary  to  his  happiness.  She  believed  that  this  myste- 
rious stranger  was,  to  say  the  least,  an  object  of  intense  in- 
terest with  John,  which  soon  made  her  an  object  of  intense 
interest  with  herself  ;  and  each  hour  increased  her  desire 
to  become  acquainted  with  one  so  situated,  friendless,  ac- 
cused, and  seemingly  suspended  by  a  thread  over  an  abyss, 
as  she  was.  When  she  first  made  her  proposal  to  Duns- 
comb  to  be  permitted  to  visit  his  client,  the  wary  and  ex- 
perienced counsellor  strongly  objected  to  the  step. 

It  was  imprudent,  could  lead  to  no  good,  and  might 
leave  an  impression  unfavorable  to  Anna's  own  character. 
But  this  advice  was  unheeded  by  a  girl  of  Anna  Updyke's 
generous  temperament.  Quiet  and  gentle  as  she  ordinarily 
appeared  to  be,  there  was  a  deep  undercurrent  of  feeling 
and  enthusiasm  in  her  moral  constitution,  that  bore  her 
onward  in  any  course  which  she  considered  to  be  right, 
with  a  total  abnegation  of  self.  This  was  a  quality  to  lead 
to  good  or  evil,  as  it  might  receive  a  direction  ;  and  hap- 
pily nothing  had  yet  occurred  in  her  brief  existence  to 
carry  her  away  toward  the  latter  goal. 

Surprised  at  the  steadiness  and  warmth  with  which  his 
young  friend  persevered  in  her  request,  Dunscomb,  after 
obtaining  the  permission  of  her  mother,  and  promising  to 
take  good  care  of  his  charge,  was  permitted  to  convey 
Anna  to  Biberry,  in  the  manner  related. 

Now  that  her  wish  was  about  to  be  gratified,  Anna  Up- 
dyke,  like  thousands  of  others  who  have  been  more  im. 
pelled  by  impulses  than  governed  by  reason,  shrunk  from 
the  execution  of  her  own  purposes.  But  the  generous 
ardor  revived  in  her  in  time  to  save  appearances  ;  and  she 
was  admitted  by  well-meaning  Mrs.  Gott  to  the  gallery  of 
the  prison,  leaning  on  Dunscomb's  arm,  much  as  she  might 
have  entered  a  drawing-room,  in  a  regular  morning  call. 

The  meeting  between  these  two  charming  young  women 
was  frank  and  cordial,  though  slightly  qualified  by  the 
forms  of  the  world.  A  watchful  and  critical  observer 
might  have  detected  less  of  nature  in  Mary  Monson's  man- 
ner than  in  that  of  her  guest,  even  while  the  welcome  she 
gave  her  visitor  was  not  without  cordiality  and  feeling.  It 
is  true  that  her  courtesy  was  more  elaborate  and  European, 
if  one  may  use  the  expression,  than  it  is  usual  to  see  in  an 
American  female,  and  her  air  was  less  ardent  than  that  of 


202  THE    IVAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

Anna  ;  but  the  last  was  highly  struck  with  her  countenance 
and  general  appearance,  and,  on  the  whole,  not  dissatisfied 
with  her  own  reception. 

The  power  of  sympathy  and  the  force  of  affinities  soon 
made  themselves  felt,  as  between  these  two  youthful  fe- 
males. Anna  regarded  Mary  as  a  stranger  most  grievously 
wronged  ;  and  forgetting  all  that  there  was  which  was 
questionable  or  mysterious  in  her  situation,  or  remember- 
ing it  only  to  feel  the  influence  of  its  interest,  while  she 
submitted  to  a  species  of  community  of  feeling  with  John 
Wilmeter,  as  she  fancied,  and  soon  got  to  be  as  much  en- 
tranced with  the  stranger  as  seemed  to  be  the  fate  of  all 
who  approached  the  circle  of  her  acquaintance.  On  the 
other  hand,  Mary  Monson  felt  a  consolation  and  gratifica- 
tion in  this  visit  to  which  she  had  long  been  a  stranger. 
Good  Mrs.  Gott  was  kind-hearted  and  a  woman,  but  she 
had  no  claim  to  the  refinement  and  peculiar  sensibilities  of 
a  lady  ;  while  Marie  Moulin,  discreet,  respectful,  even  wise 
as  she  was  in  her  own  way,  was,  after  all,  nothing  but  an 
upper  servant.  The  chasm  between  the  cultivated  and  the 
uncultivated,  the  polished  and  the  unpolished,  is  wide  ; 
and  the  accused  fully  appreciated  the  change,  when  one  of 
her  own  class  in  life,  habits,  associations,  and,  if  the  reader 
will,  prejudices,  so  unexpectedly  appeared  to  sympathize 
with,  and  to  console  her.  Under  such  circumstances,  three 
or  four  hours  made  the  two  fast  and  deeply-interested 
friends,  on  their  own  accounts,  to  say  nothing  of  the  effect 
produced  by  the  generous  advances  of  one,  and  the  peril- 
ous condition  of  the  other. 

Dunscomb  returned  to  town  that  evening,  leaving  Anna 
Updyke  behind  him,  ostensibly  under  the  care  of  Mrs. 
Gott.  Democracy  has  been  carried  so  far  on  the  high  road 
of  ultraism  in  New  York,  as  in  very  many  interests  to  be- 
come the  victim  of  its  own  expedients.  Perhaps  the  peo- 
ple are  never  so  far  from  exercising  a  healthful,  or,  indeed, 
any  authority  at  all,  as  when  made  to  seem,  by  the  expe- 
dients of  demagogues^to  possess  an  absolute  control.  It 
is  necessary  merely  to  bestow  a  power  which  it  is  impos- 
sible for  the  masses  to  wield  with  intelligence,  in  order  to 
effect  this  little  piece  of  legerdemain  in  politics  ;  the  quasi- 
people  in  all  such  cases  becoming  the  passive  instruments 
in  the  hands  of  their  leaders,  who  strengthen  their  own 
authority  by  this  seeming  support  of  the  majority.  In  all 
cases,  however,  in  which  the  agency  of  numbers  can  be 
felt,  its  force  is  made  to  prevail  ;  the  tendency  necessarily 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  203 

being  to  bring  down  all  representation  to  the  level  of  the 
majority.  The  effect  of  the  change  has  been  pretty  equally 
divided  between  good  and  evil.  In  many  cases  benefits 
have  accrued  to  the  community  by  the  exercise  of  this  di- 
rect popular  control,  while  in  probably  quite  as  many  the 
result  has  been  exactly  the  reverse  of  that  which  was  an- 
ticipated? In  no  one  instance,  we  believe  it  will  be  gen- 
erally admitted,  has  the  departure  from  the  old  practice 
been  less  advantageous  than  in  rendering  the  office  of 
sheriff  elective.  Instead  of  being  a  leading  and  indepen- 
dent man,  who  has  a  pride  in  his  position,  and  regards  the 
character  of  his  county  as  he  does  his  own,  this  function- 
ary has  got  to  be,  nine  times  in  ten,  a  mere  political  ma- 
noeuvrer,  who  seeks  the  place  as  a  reward  for  party  labors, 
and  fills  it  very  much  for  his  personal  benefit,  conferring 
no  dignity  on  it  by  his  own  position  and  character,  lessen- 
ing its  authority  by  his  want  of  the  qualities  calculated  to 
increase  it,  and,  in  a  good  many  instances,  making  it  quite 
as  difficult  to  wrest  money  from  his  hands,  as  from  those 
of  the  original  debtor. 

It  is  a  consequence  of  this  state  of  things  that  the  sheriff 
has  quite  lost  all,  or  nearly  all,  the  personal  consideration 
that  was  once  connected  with  his  office  ;  and  has  sunk,  in 
most  of  the  strictly  rural  counties,  into  a  jailer,  and  the 
head  of  the  active  bailiffs.  His  object  is  altogether  money  ; 
and  the  profit  connected  with  the  keeping  of  the  prisoners, 
now  reduced  almost  entirely  to  felons,  the  accused,  and 
persons  committed  for  misdejneanors,  is  one  of  the  in- 
ducements for  aspiring  to  an  office  once  so  honor- 
able. 

In  this  state  of  things,  it  is  not  at  all  surprising  that  Duns- 
comb  was  enabled  to  make  such  an  arrangement  with  Mrs. 
Gott  as  would  place  Anna  Updyke  in  a  private  room  in 
the  house  attached  to  the  jail,  and  which  formed  the  sheriff's 
dwelling.  The  counsellor  preferred  leaving  her  with  Mrs. 
Horton  ;  but  to  this  Anna  herself  objected,  both  because 
she  had  taken  a  strong  dislike  to  the  garrulous  but  shrewd 
landlady,  and  because  it  would  have  separated  her  too 
much  from  the  person  she  had  come  especially  to  console 
and  sympathize  with. 

The  arrangement  made,  Dunscomb,  as  has  already  been 
mentioned,  took  his  departure  for  town,  with  the  under- 
standing that  he  was  to  return  the  succeeding  week  ;  the 
Circuit  and  Oyer  and  Terminer  sitting  on  Monday,  and 
the  district  attorney,  Mr.  Garth,  having  given  notice  to  her 


204  7Y//<;   WAYS    OF   THE    HOLrR. 

counsel  tliat  the  indictment  against  Mary  Monson  would 
be  certainly  traversed  the  second  day  of  the  sitting,  which 
would  be  on  Tuesday. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

Let  her  locks  be  the  reddest  that  ever  were  seen, 

And  her  eyes  may  be  e'en  any  color  but  green  ; 

Be  they  light,  gray,  or  black,  their  lustre  and  hue, 

I  swear  I've  no  choice,  only  let  her  have  two. — The  Duenna. 

Two  days  after  this,  Dunscomb  was  in  his  library  late 
at  night,  holding  a  brief  discourse  with  McBrain's  coach- 
man, who  has  been  already  introduced  to  the  reader.  Some 
orders  had  been  given  to  the  last,  in  relation  to  another 
trip  to  Biberry,  whither  the  master  and  our  lawyer  were 
to  proceed  next  day.  The  man  was  an  old  and  indulged 
servant,  and  often  took  great  liberties  in  these  conferences. 
In  this  respect  the  Americans  of  his  class  differ  very  little 
from  the  rest  of  their  fellow-creatures,  notwithstanding  all 
that  has  been  said  and  written  to  the  contrary.  They  obey 
the  impulses  of  their  characters  much  as  the  rest  of  man- 
kind, though  not  absolutely  without  some  difference  in 
manner. 

"  I  s'poses,  Squire  Dunscomb,  that  this  is  like  to  be  the 
last  journey  that  I  and  the  doctor  will  have  to  take  soon 
ag'in,  in  that  quarter,"  coolly  observed  Stephen,  when  his 
master's  friend  had  told  him  the  hour  to  be  at  the  door, 
with  the  other  preparations  that  would  be  necessary  ;  "un- 
less we  should  happen  to  be  called  in  at  the  post  mortal" 

"Post  mortem,  you  must  mean,  Hoof,"  a  slight  smile 
flashing  on  the  lawyer's  countenance,  and  as  quickly  dis- 
appearing. "  So  you  consider  it  a  settled  thing  that  my 
client  is  to  be  found  guilty  ?  " 

"That's  what  they  say,  sir  ;  and  things  turn  out,  in  this 
country,  pretty  much  the  same  as  they  say  aforehand.  For 
my  part,  sir,  I  never  quite  liked  the  criminal's  looks." 

<l  Her  looks  !  I  do  not  know  where  you  would  go  to  find 
a  more  lovely  young  woman,  Stephen  ! " 

This  was  said  with  a  vivacity  and  suddenness  that  startled 
the  coachman  a  little.  Even  Dunscomb  seemed  surprised 
at  his  own  animation,  and  had  the  grace  to  change  color. 
The  fact  was  that  he  too  was  feeling  the  influence  of 


THE   WAYS   OF    THE  HOUR.  205 

woman,  youthful,  lovely,  spirited,  refined,  and  surrounded 
with  difficulties.  This  was  the  third  of  Mary  Monson's 
conquests  since  her  arrest,  if  John  Wilmeter's  wavering 
admiration  could  be  placed  in  this  category,  viz.,  Timms, 
the  nephew,  and  the  counsellor  himself.  Neither  was  ab- 
solutely in  love  ;  but  each  and  all  submitted  to  an  interest 
of  an  unusual  degree  in  the  person,  character,  arid  fortunes 
of  this  unknown  female.  Timms,  alone,  had  got  so  far  as 
to  contemplate  a  marriage  ;  the  idea  having  crossed  his 
mind  that  it  might  be  almost  as  useful  as  popularity,  to  be- 
come the  husband  of  one  possessed  of  so  much  money. 

'Til  not  deny  her  good  looks,  squire,"  returned  Stephen 
Hoof — or  Stephen  Huff,  as  he  called  himself — "  but  it's 
her  bad  looks  that  isn't  so  much  to  my  fancy.  Vhy,  sir, 
once  the  doctor  had  a  horse  that  was  agreeable  enough  to 
the  eye,  having  a  good  color  and  most  of  the  p'ints,  but 
who  wasn't  no  traveller,  not  a  bit  on't.  One  that  know'd 
the  animal  could  see  where  the  fault  lay  ;  the  fetlock  j'int 
being  oncommon  longish  ;  and  that's  what  I  call  good  looks 
and  bad  looks." 

"  You  mean,  Stephen,"  said  Dunscomb,  who  had  re 
gained  all  his  sang  froid,  "  that  Mary  Monson  has  a  bad- 
looking  ankle,  I  suppose,  wherein  I  think  you  miserably 
mistaken.  No  matter  ;  she  will  not  have  to  travel  under 
your  lash  very  far.  But,  how  is  it  with  the  reporters  ? 
Do  you  see  any  more  of  your  friend  that  asks  so  many 
questions  ? " 

"  They  be  an  axing  set,  squire,  if  anybody  can  be  so 
called,"  returned  Stephen,  grinning.  "  Would  you  think  it, 
sir  ?  one  day  when  I  was  comin'  in  from  Timbully  empty, 
one  on  'em  axed  me  for  a  ride  !  a  chap  as  hadn't  his  foot 
in  a  reg'lar  private  coach  since  he  was  born,  a  wantin'  to 
drive  about  in  a  wehicle  as  well  known  as  Doctor  McBrain's 
best  carriage  !  Them's  the  sort  of  chaps  that  spreads  all 
the  reports  that's  going  up  and  down  the  land,  they  tell  me." 

"  They  do  their  share  of  it,  Stephen  ;  though  there  are 
enough  to  help  them  who  do  not  openly  belong  to  their 
corps.  Well,  what  does  your  acquaintance  want  to  know 
now  ? " 

"  Oncommon  curious,  squire,  about  the  bones.  He  axed 
me  more  than  forty  questions  ;  what  we  thought  of  them  ; 
and  about  their  being  male  or  female  bones  ;  and  how  we 
know'd  ;  and  a  great  many  more  sich  matters.  I  answered 
him  accordin'  to  my  abilities  ;  and  so  he  made  an  article 
on  the  subject,  and  has  sent  me  the  papers." 


206  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

"  An  article!  Concerning  Mary  Monson,  and  on  youl 
information  ? " 

"  Sartain,  sir  ;  and  the  bones.  Vhy,  they  cut  articles  out 
of  much  narrower  cloth,  I  can  tell  you,  squire.  There's  the 
cooks,  and  chambermaids,  and  vaiters  about  town,  none  of 
vich  can  hold  up  their  heads  with  a  reg'lar,  long-estab- 
lished physician's  coachman,  who  goes  far  ahead  of  even 
an  omnibus  driver  in  public  estimation,  as  you  must  know, 
squire — but  such  sort  of  folks  furnish  many  an  article  for 
the  papers  nowadays— yes,  and  articles  that  ladies  and 
gentlemen  read." 

"  That  is  certainly  a  singular  source  of  useful  knowledge 
— one  must  hope  they  are  well-grounded,  or  they  will  soon 
cease  to  be  ladies  and  gentlemen  at  all.  Have  you  the 
paper  about  you,  Stephen  ?  " 

Hoof  handed  the  lawyer  a  journal  folded  with  a  para- 
graph in  view,  that  was  so  much  thumbed  and  dirtied  it 
was  not  very  easy  to  read  it. 

"We  understand  that  the  trial  of  Mary  Monson,  for  the 
murder  of  Peter  and  Dorothy  Goodwin,"  said  the  "  article," 
"  will  come  of  in  the  adjoining  County  of  Dukes,  at  a  very 
early  day.  Strong  attempts  have  been  made  to  make  it 
appear  that  the  skeletons  found  in  the  ruins  of  Goodwin's 
dwelling,  which  our  readers  will  remember  was  burned  at 
the  time  of  the  murders,  are  not  human  bones  ;  but  we 
have  been  at  great  pains  to  investigate  this  very  material 
point,  and  have  no  hesitation  in  giving  it  as  our  profound 
conviction,  that  it  will  be  made  to  appear  that  these  mel- 
ancholy memorials  are  ail  that  remain  of  the  excellent 
couple  who  were  so  suddenly  taken  out  of  existence.  We 
do  not  speak  lightly  on  this  subject,  having  gone  to  the 
fountain-head  for  our  facts,  as  well  as  for  our  science." 

"Hoof  on  McBrain  !"  muttered  Dunscomb,  arching  his 
brows — "this  is  much  of  a  piece  with  quite  one-half  of 
the  knowledge  that  is  poured  into  the  popular  mind  now- 
adays. Thank  you,  Stephen  ;  I  will  keep  this  paper,  which 
may  be  of  use  at  the  trial." 

"  I  thought  our  opinions  was  vorth  something  more  than 
nothing,  sir,"  answered  the  gratified  coachman  ;  "a  body 
doesn't  ride  at  all  hours,  day  and  night,  year  after  year, 
and  come  out  where  he  started.  I  vishes  you  to  keep  that 
'ere  paper,  squire,  a  little  carefully,  for  it  may  be  wanted 
in  the  college,  where  they  reads  all  sorts  of  things,  one  of 
these  days." 

"  It  shall  be  cared  for,  my  friend — I   hear  some   one  at 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  207 

the  street-door  bell.  It  is  late  for  a.  call,  and  I  fear  Peter 
has  gone  to  bed.  See  who  is  there,  and  good-night." 

Stephen  withdrew,  the  ringing  being  repeated  a  little 
impatiently,  and  was  soon  at  the  street  door.  The  fellow 
admitted  the  visitors,  and  went  ruminating  homeward, 
Dunscomb  maintaining  a  very  respectable  reputation,  in  a 
bachelor  point  of  view,  for  morals.  As  for  the  lawyer  him- 
self, he  was  in  the  act  of  reading  a  second  time  the  pre- 
cious opinion  expressed  in  the  journals,  when  the  door  of 
his  library  opened,  a  little  hesitatingly  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, and  two  females  stood  on  its  threshold.  Although 
his  entirely  unexpected  visitors  were  so  much  muffled  in 
shawls  and  veils  it  was  not  possible  to  distinguish  even  the 
outlines  of  their  persons,  Dunscomb  fancied  each  was 
youthful  and  handsome,  the  instant  he  cast  his  eyes  on 
them.  The  result  showed  how  well  he  guessed. 

Throwing  aside  the  garments  that  concealed  their  forms 
and  faces,  Mary  Monson  and  Anna  Updyke  advanced  in- 
to the  room.  The  first  was  perfectly  self-possessed  and 
brilliantly  handsome  ;  while  her  companion,  flushed  with 
excitement  and  exercise,  was  not  much  behind  her  in 
this  important  particular.  Dunscomb  started,  and  fancied 
there  was  felony,  even  in  his  hospitality. 

**  You  know  how  difficult  it  is  for  me  to  travel  by  day- 
light," commenced  Mary  Monson,  in  the  most  natural 
manner  in  the  world  ;  "that,  and  the  distance  we  had  to 
drive,  must  explain  the  unseasonableness  of  this  visit.  You 
told  me  once,  yourself,  that  you  are  both  a  late  and  an  early 
man,  which  encouraged  me  to  venture.  Mr.  Timms  has 
written  me  a  letter,  which  I  have  thought  it  might  be  well 
to  show  you.  There  it  is ;  and  when  you  have  cast  an  eye 
over  it,  we  will  speak  of  its  contents." 

"  Why,  this  is  very  much  like  a  conditional  proposal  of 
marriage  !"  cried  Dunscomb,  dropping  the  hand  that  held 
the  letter,  as  soon  as  he  had  read  the  first  paragraph. 
"  Conditional,  so  far  as  the  result  of  your  trial  is  con- 
cerned !  " 

"  I  forgot  the  opening  of  the  epistle,  giving  very  little 
thought  to  its  purport  ;  though  Mr.  Timms  has  not  writ- 
ten me  a  line  lately  that  has  not  touched  on  this  interest- 
ing subject.  A  manage  between  him  and  me  is  so  entirely 
out  of  the  way  of  all  the  possibilities,  that  I  look  upon  his 
advances  as  mere  embellishment.  I  have  answered  him 
directly  in  the  negative  once,  and  that  ought  to  satisfy  any 
prudent  person.  They  tell  me  no  woman  should  marry 


2oS  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

a  man  she  has  once  refused  ;  and  I  shall  plead  this  as  a 
reason  for  continued  obduracy." 

This  was  said  pleasantly,  and  without  the  least  appear- 
ance of  resentment  ;  but  in  a  way  to  show  she  regarded 
her  attorney's  proposal  as  very  much  out  of  the  beaten 
track.  As  for  Dunscomb,  he  passed  his  hand  over  his 
brows,  and  read  the  rest  of  a  pretty  long  letter  with  grave 
attention.  The  purely  business  part  of  this  communica- 
tion was  much  to  the  point ;  important,  clearly  put,  and 
every  way  creditable  to  the  writer.  The  lawyer  read  it  at- 
tentively a  second  time,  ere  he  once  opened  his  mouth  in 
comments. 

"  And  why  is  this  shown  to  me  ? "  he  asked,  a  little  vexed, 
as  was  seen  in  his  manner.  "  I  have  told  you  it  is  felony 
to  assist  a  prisoner  in  an  attempt  to  escape." 

"  I  have  shown  it  to  you,  because  I  have  not  the  remotest 
intention,  Mr.  Dunscomb,  to  attempt  anything  of  the  sort. 
I  shall  not  quit  my  asylum  so  easily." 

"  Then  why  are  you  here,  at  this  hour,  with  the  certainty 
that  most  of  the  night  must  be  passed  on  the  road,  if  you 
mean  to  return  to  your  prison  ere  the  sun  reappears  ?" 

"  For  air,  exercise,  and  to  show  you  this  letter.  I  am 
often  in  town,  but  am  compelled,  for  more  reasons  than 
you  are  acquainted  with,  to  travel  by  night." 

"  May  I  ask  where  you  obtain  a  vehicle  to  make  these 
journeys  in  ?" 

"  I  use  my  own  carriage,  and  trust  to  a  very  long-tried 
and  most  faithful  domestic.  I  think  Miss  Updyke  will  say 
he  drove  us  not  only  carefully,  but  with  great  speed.  On 
that  score,  we  have  no  grounds  of  complaint.  But  I  am 
very  much  fatigued,  and  must  ask  permission  to  sleep  for 
an  hour.  You  have  a  drawing-room,  I  take  it  for  granted, 
Mr.  Dunscomb  ?  " 

"  My  niece  fancies  she  has  two.  Shall  1  put  lights  in 
one  of  them  ?" 

"  By  no  means.  Anna  knows  the  house  as  well  as  she 
does  her  mother's,  and  will  do  the  honors.  On  no  account 
let  Miss  Wilmeter  be  disturbed.  I  am  a  little  afraid  of 
meeting  htr,  since  we  have  practised  a  piece  of  treachery 
touching  Marie  Moulin.  But,  no  matter;  one  hour  on  a 
sofa,  in  a  dark  room,  is  all  I  ask.  That  will  bring  us  to 
midnight,  when  the  carriage  will  again  be  at  the  door.  You 
wish  to  see  your  mother,  my  dear,  and  here  is  a  safe  and 
very  suitable  attendant  to  accompany  you  to  her  house  and 
back  again." 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  209 

All  this  was  said  pleasantly,  but  with  a  singular  air  of 
authority,  as  if  this  mysterious  being  were  accustomed  to 
plan  out  and  direct  the  movements  of  others.  She  had  her 
way.  In  a  minute  or  two  she  was  stretched  on  a  sofa,  cov- 
ered with  a  shawl,  the  door  was  closed  on  her,  and  Duns- 
comb  was  on  his  way  to  Mrs.  McBrain's  residence,  which 
was  at  some  distance  from  his  own,  with  Anna  leaning  on 
his  arm. 

"Of  course,  my  dear,"  said  the  lawyer,  as  he  and  his 
beautiful  companion  left  his  own  door  at  that  late  hour  of 
the  night,  "  we  shall  see  no  more  of  Mary  Monson  ? " 

"  Not  see  her  again  !  I  should  be  very,  very  sorry  to 
think  that,  sir !  " 

"  She  is  no  simpleton,  and  means  to  take  Timms's  ad- 
vice. That  fellow  has  written  a  strong  letter,  in  no  expec- 
tation of  its  being  seen,  I  fancy,  in  which  he  points  out  a 
new  source  of  danger  ;  and  plainly  advises  his  client  to  ab- 
scond. I  can  see  the  infatuation  of  love  in  this  ;  for  the 
letter,  if  produced,  would  bring  him  into  great  trouble." 

"  And  you  suppose,  sir,  that  Mary  Monson  intends  to 
follow  this  advice  ?  " 

"  Beyond  a  question.  She  is  not  only  a  very  clever,  but 
she  is  a  very  cunning  woman.  This  last  quality  is  one 
that  I  admire  in  her  the  least.  I  should  be  half  in  love 
with  her  myself" — this  was  exactly  the  state  of  the  coun- 
sellor's feelings  toward  his  client,  in  spite  of  his  bravado 
and  affected  discernment ;  a  woman's  charms  often  over- 
shadowing a  philosophy  that  is  deeper  even  than  his — 
"  but  for  this  very  trait,  which  I  find  little  to  my  taste.  I 
take  it  for  granted  you  are  sent  home  to  be  put  under  your 
mother's  care,  where  you  properly  belong ;  and  I  am  got 
out  of  the  way  to  save  me  from  the  pains  and  penalties  of 
an  indictment  for  felony." 

"  I  think  you  do  not  understand  Mary  Monson,  Uncle 
Xom  "—so  Anna  had  long  called  her  friend's  relative,  as 
it  might  be  in  anticipation  of  the  time  when  the  appella- 
tion would  be  correct.  "  She  is  not  the  sort  of  person  to 
do  as  you  suggest ;  but  would  rather  make  it  a  point  of 
honor  to  remain,  and  face  any  accusation  whatever." 

"  She  must  have  nerves  of  steel  to  confront  justice  in  a 
case  like  hers",  and  in  the  present  state  of  public  feeling  "in 
Dukes.  Justice  is  a  very  pretty  thing  to  talk  about,  my 
dear  ;  but  we  old  practitioners  know  that  it  is  little  more, 
in  human  hands,  than  the  manipulations  of  human  pas- 
sions. Of  late  years,  the  outsiders — outside  barbarians 


210  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

they  might  very  properly  be  termed — have  almost  as  much, 
to  do  with  the  result  of  any  warmly-contested  suit  as  the 
law  and  evidence.  *  Who  is  on  the  jury  ? '  is  the  first  ques- 
tion asked  nowadays  ;  not  what  are  the  facts.  I  have  told 
all  this  very  plainly  to  Mary  Monson 

"  To  induce  her  to  fly  ?  "asked  Anna,  prettily,  and  a  little 
smartly. 

"  Not  so  much  that,  as  to  induce  her  to  consent  to  an 
application  for  delay.  The  judges  of  this  country  are  so 
much  overworked,  so  little  paid,  and  usually  are  so  neces- 
sitous, that  almost  any  application  for  delay  is  granted. 
Business  at  chambers  is  sadly  neglected  ;  for  that  is  done 
in  a  corner,  and  does  not  address  itself  to  the  public  eye, 
or  seek  public  eulogiums  ;  but  he  is  thought  the  cleverest 
fellow  who  will  soonest  sweep  out  a  crowded  calendar. 
Causes  are  tried  by  tallow  candles  until  midnight,  with 
half  the  jurors  asleep  ;  and  hard-working  men,  accustomed 
to  be  asleep  by  eight  each  night,  are  expected  to  keep 
their  thoughts  and  minds  active  in  the  face  of  all  these  ob- 
stacles." 

"  Do  you  tell  me  this,  Uncle  Tom,  in  the  expectation 
that  I  am  to  understand  it  ? " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  child  ;  but  my  heart  is  full  of  the 
failing  justice  of  the  land.  We  shout  hosannas  in  praise  of 
the  institutions,  while  we  shut  our  eyes  to  the  gravest  con- 
sequences that  are  fast  undermining  us  in  the  most  impor- 
tant of  all  our  interests.  But  here  we  are  already  ;  I  had 
no  notion  we  had  walked  so  fast.  Yes,  there  is  Papa  Mc- 
Brain's  one-horse  vehicle,  well  emptied  of  its  contents,  I 
hope,  by  a  hard  day's  work." 

"  A  doctor's  life  must  be  so  laborious  !"  exclaimed  the 
pretty  Anna.  "  I  think  nothing  could  tempt  me  to  marry 
a  physician." 

"  It  is  well  a  certain  lady  of  our  acquaintance  was  not  of 
your  way  of  thinking,"  returned  Dunscomb,  laughing;  for 
his  good  humor  always  returned  when  he  could  give  his 
friend  a  rub  on  his  matrimonial  propensities,  "else  would 
McBrain  have  been  troubled  to  get  his  last  and  best. 
Never  mind,  my  dear,  he  is  a  good-natured  fellow,  and  will 
make  a  very  kind  papa." 

Anna  made  no  reply,  but  rang  the  bell  a  little  pettishly , 
for  no  child  likes  to  have  a  mother  married  a  second 
time,  there  being  much  greater  toleration  for  fathers,  and 
asked  her  companion  in.  As  the  wife  of  a  physician  in 
full  practice,  the  bride  had  already  changed  many  of  her 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  211 

long-cherished  habits.  In  this  respect,  however,  she  did 
no  more  than  follow  the  fortunes  of  woman,  who  so  cheer- 
fully makes  any  sacrifice  in  behalf  of  him  she  loves,  If 
men  were  only  one-half  as  disinterested,  as  self-denying, 
and  as  true  as  the  other  sex,  in  all  that  relates  to  the  affec- 
tions, what  a  blessed  state  would  that  of  matrimony  be  ! 
Still,  there  are  erring,  and  selfish,  and  domineering,  and 
capricious,  vain,  heartless,  and  self-willed  females,  whom 
nature  never  intended  for  married  life,  and  who  are  guilty 
of.  a  species  of  profanation  when  they  stand  up  and  vow  to 
love,  honor,  and  obey  their  husbands.  Many  of  these  dis- 
regard their  solemn  pledges,  made  at  the  altar,  and  under 
the  immediate  invocation  of  the  Deity,  as  they  would  dis- 
regard a  promise  made  in  jest,  and  think  no  more  of  the 
duties  and  offices  that  are  so  peculiarly  the  province  of 
their  sex,  than  of  the  passing  and  idle  promises  of  vanity. 
But,  if  such  women  exist,  and  that  they  do  our  daily  ex- 
perience proves,  they  are  as  exceptions  to  the  great  law  of 
female  faith,  which  is  tenderness  and  truth.  They  are  not 
women  in  character,  whatever  they  may  be  in  appearance, 
but  creatures  in  the  guise  of  a  sex  that  they  discredit  and 
caricature. 

Mrs.  McBram  was  not  a  person  of  the  disposition  just 
described.  She  was  gentle  and  good,  and  bid  fair  to  make 
the  evening  of  her  second  husband's  days  very  happy. 
Sooth,  to  say,  she  was  a  good  deal  in  love,  notwithstanding 
her  time  of  life,  and  the  still  more  mature  years  of  the 
bridegroom  ;  and  had  been  so  much  occupied  with  the 
duties  and  cares  that  belonged  to  her  recent  change  of 
condition  as  to  be  a  little  forgetful  of  her  daughter.  At 
no  other  period  of  their  joint  lives  would  she  have  permit- 
ted this  beloved  child  to  be  absent  from  her,  under  such 
circumstances,  without  greater  care  for  her  safety  and 
comforts  ;  but  there  is  a  honey-week,  as  well  as  a  honey- 
moon ;  and  the  intenseness  of  its  feelings  might  very  well 
disturb  the  ordinary  round  of  even  maternal  duties.  Glad 
enough,  however,  was  she  now  to  see  her  daughter,  when 
Anna,  blooming,  and  smiling,  and  blushing,  flew  into  her 
mother's  arms. 

"  There  she  is,  widow — Mrs.  Updyke — I  beg  pardon — • 
married  woman,  and  Mrs.  McBrain,"  cried  Dunscomb. 
"  Ned  is  such  an  uneasy  fellow,  he  keeps  all  his  friends  in 
a  fever  with  his  emotions,  and  love,  and  matrimony  ;  and 
that  just  suits  him,  as  he  has  only  to  administer  a  pill  and 
set  all  right  again.  But  there  she  is,  safe  and  unmarried. 


212  THE  WAYS   OF   THK  HOUR. 

thank  Heaven ;  which  is  always  a  sort  of  consolation  to 
me.  She's  back  again,  and  you  will  do  well  to  keep  her 
until  my  nephew,  Jack,  comes  to  ask  permission  to  carry 
her  off  for  good  and  all." 

Anna  blushed  more  deeply  than  ever,  while  the  mother 
smiled  and  embraced  her  child.  Then  succeeded  questions 
and  answers,  until  Mrs.  McBrain  had  heard  the  whole 
story  of  her  daughter's  intercourse  with  Mary  Monson,  so 
far  as  it  has  been  made  known  to  the  reader.  Beyond 
that,  Anna  did  not  think  herself  authorized  to  go;  or,. if 
she  made  any  revelation,  it  would  be  premature  for  us  to 
repeat  it. 

"  Here  we  are,  all  liable  to  be  indicted  for  felony,"  cried 
Dunscomb,  as  soon  as  the  young  lady  had  told  her  tale. 
"  Timms  will  be  hanged,  in  place  of  his  client ;  and  we 
three  will  have  cells  at  Sing  Sing,  as  accessories  before  the 
:ict.  Yes,  my  dear  bride,  you  are  what  the  law  terms  a 
'particeps  criminis,'  and  may  look  out  for  the  sheriff  before 
you  are  a  week  older." 

"And  why  all  this,  Mr.  Dunscomb?"  demanded  the 
half-amused,  half-frightened  Mrs.  McBrain. 

"  For  aiding  and  abetting  a  prisoner  in  breaking  jail. 
Mary  Monson  is  off,  beyond  a  question.  She  lay  down 
in  Sarah's  drawing-room,  pretending  to  be  wearied,  ten 
minutes  since,  and  has,  no  doubt,  got  through  with  her 
nap  already,  and  is  on  her  way  to  Canada,  or  Texas,  or 
California,  or  some  other  out-of-the-way  country — Cuba, 
for  aught  I  know." 

"  Is  this  so,  think  you,  Anna?" 

"I'do  not,  mamma.  So  far  from  believing  Mary  Mon- 
son to  be  flying  to  any  out-of-the-way  place,  I  have  no 
doubt  that  we  shall  find  her  fast  asleep  on  Mr.  Dunscomb's 
sofa." 

"  Uncle  Dunscomb's  sofa,  if  you  please,  young  lady." 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  shall  call  you  uncle  no  longer,"  answered 
Anna,  blushing  scarlet — "  until — until " 

*'  You  have  a  legal  claim  to  the  use  of  the  word.  Well, 
that  will  come  in  due  time,  I  trust ;  if  not,  it  shall  be  my 
care  to  see  you  have  a  title  to  a  still  dearer  appellation. 
There,  widow — Mrs.  McBrain,  I  mean — I  think  you  will 
do.  But,  seriously,  child,  you  cannot  imagine  that  Mary 
Monson  means  ever  to  return  to  her  prison,  there  to  be 
tried  for  life  ? " 

"  If  there  is  faith  in  woman,  she  does  sir  ;  else  would  I 
not  have  exposed  myself  to  the  risk  of  accompanying  her.'' 


THE    WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  213 

"  In  what  manner  did  you  come  to  town,  Anna?"  asked 
the  anxious  mother.  "  Are  you  not  now  at  the  mercy  of 
some  driver  of  a  hackney-coach,  or  of  some  public  cab- 
man?" 

"•I  understand  that  the  carriage  which  was  in  waiting 
for  us,  half  a  mile  from  Biberry,  is  Mrs.  Monson's " 

"  Mrs.  !  "  interrupted  Dunscomb.  u  Is  she,  then,  a  mar- 
ried woman  ? " 

Anna  looked  down,  trembled,  and  was  conscious  of  hav- 
ing betrayed  a  secret.  So  very  precious  to  herself  had 
been  the  communication  of  Marie  Moulin  on  this  point, 
that  it  was  ever  uppermost  in  her  thoughts  ;  and  it  had 
now  escaped  her  under  an  impulse  she  could  not  control. 
It  was  too  late,  however,  to  retreat ;  and  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion told  her  it  would  every  way  be  better  to  tell  all  she 
knew  on  this  one  point  at  least. 

This  was  soon  done,  for  even  Marie  Moulin's  means  of 
information  were  somewhat  limited.  This  Swiss  had  for- 
merly known  the  prisoner  by  another  name,  though  what 
name  she  would  not  reveal.  This  was  in  Europe,  where 
Marie  had  actually  passed  three  years  in  this  mysterious 
person's  employment.  Marie  had  even  come  to  America, 
in  consequence  of  this  connection,  at  the  death  of  her  own 
mother ;  but,  unable  to  find  her  former  mistress,  had  taken 
service  with  Sarah  Wilmeter.  Mary  Monson  was  single 
and  unbetrothed  when  she  left  Europ'e.  Such  was  Marie 
Moulin's  statement.  But  it  was  understood  she  was  now 
married  ;  though  to  whom,  she  could  not  say.  If  Anna 
Updyke  knew  more  than  this,  she  did  not  reveal  it  at  that 
interview. 

"Ah  !  Here  is  another  case  of  a  wife's  elopement  from 
her  husband,"  interrupted  Dunscomb,  as  soon  as  Anna 
reached  this  point  in  her  narration;  "and  I  dare  say  some- 
thing or  other  will  be  found  in  this  wretched  code  to  up- 
hold her  in  her  disobedience.  You  have  done  well  to 
marry,  Mrs.  McBrain  ;  for,  according  to  the  modern  opin- 
ions in  these  matters,  instead  of  providing  yourself  with  a 
lord  and  master,  you  have  only  engaged  an  upper  servant." 

"  No  true-hearted  woman  can  look  upon  her  husband  in 
so  degrading  a  light,"  answered  the  bride,  with  spirit. 

"  That  will  do  for  three  days,  but  wait  to  the  end  of  three 
years.  There  are  runaway  wives  enough,  at  this  moment, 
roaming  up  and  down  the  land,  setting  the  laws  of  God 
and  man  at  defiance,  and  jingling  their  purses,  when  they 
happen  to  have  money,  under  their  lawful  husbands'  noses; 


2*4  THE  WA  YS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

ay,  enough  to  set  up  a  three-tailed  pacha  !  But  this  dam- 
nable  code  will  uphold  them,  in  some  shape  or  other,  my 
life  for  it.  One  can't  endure  her  husband  because  he 
smokes  ;  another  finds  fault  with  his  not  going  to  church 
but  once  a  day  ;  another  quarrels  with  him  for  going  three 
times  ;  another  says  he  has  too  much  dinner-company  ;  and 
another  protests  she  can't  get  a  male  friend  inside  of  her 
house.  All  these  ladies,  forgetful  as  they  are  of  their 
highest  earthly  duties,  forgetful  as  they  are  of  woman's 
very  nature,  are  the  models  of  divine  virtues,  and  lay 
claim  to  the  sympathies  of  mankind.  They  get  those  of 
fools,  but  prudent  and  reflecting  men  shake  their  heads  at 
such  wandering  deesses." 

"  You  are  severe  on  us  women,  Mr.  Dunscomb,"  said  the 
bride. 

"  Not  on  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  McBrain — never  a  syllable 
on  you.  But  go  on,  child  ;  I  have  had  the  case  of  one  of 
these  vagrant  wives  in  my  hands,  and  know  how  mistaken 
has  been  the  disposition  to  pity  her.  Men  lean  to  the 
woman's  side  ;  but  the  frequency  of  the  abuse  is  beginning 
to  open  the  eyes  of  the  public.  Go  on,  Anna  dear,  and  let 
us  hear  it  all — or  all  you  have  to  tell  us." 

Very  little  remained  to  be  related.  Marie  Moulin,  her- 
self, knew  very  little  of  that  which  had  occurred  since  her 
separation  from  her  present  mistress  in  France.  She  did 
make  one  statement,  however,  that  Anna  had  deemed  very 
important ;  but  which  she  felt  bound  to  keep  as  a  secret, 
in  consequence  of  the  injunctions  received  from  the  Swiss, 

"  I  should  have  a  good  deal  to  say  about  this  affair,"  ob- 
served Dunscomb,  when  his  beautiful  companion  was  done, 
"did  I  believe  that  we  shall  find  Mary  Monson  on  our 
return  to  my  house.  In  that  case,  I  should  say  to  you,  my 
dear  widow — Mrs.  McBrain,  I  mean — the  devil  take  that 
fellow  Ned,  he'll  have  half  the  women  in  town  bearing  his 
name  before  he  is  done.  Well,  Heaven  be  praised  !  he  can 
neither  marry  me,  nor  give  me  a  step-father,  let  him  do  his 
very  best.  There's  comfort  in  that  consideration,  at  any 
rate." 

"You  were  about  to  tell  us  what  you  would  do,"  put  in 
the  bride,  slightly  vexed,  yet  too  well  assured  of  the  coun- 
sellor's attachment  to  her  husband  to  feel  angry;  "you 
must  know  how  much  value  we  give  to  your  advice." 

"  I  was  about  to  say  that  Anna  should  not  return  to  this 
mysterious  convict — no,  she  is  not  yet  convicted,  but  she  is 
indicted,  and  that  is  something — but  return  she  should  not. 


THE   WAYS   OF  THE   HOUR.  21 

were  there  the  least  chance  of  our  finding  her  on  our  retun, 
home.  Let  her  go  then,  and  satisfy  her  curiosity,  and  past, 
the  night  with  Sarah,  who  must  be  through  with  her  firsv 
nap  by  this  time." 

Anna  urged  her  mother  to  consent  to  this  arrangement, 
putting  forward  her  engagement  with  Mary  Monson,  not 
to  desert  her  ;  McBrain  driving  to  the  door,  from  paying 
his  last  visit  that  night,  his  wife  gave  her  assent  to  the 
proposition  ;  the  tenderest  mother  occasionally  permitting 
another  and  more  powerful  feeling  to  usurp  the  place  of 
maternal  care.  Mrs.  McBrain,  it  must  be  admitted,  thought 
more  of  the  bridegroom,  sixty  as  he  was,  than  of  her  charm- 
ing daughter  ;  nor  was  she  yet  quite  free  from  the  awkward- 
ness that  ever  accompanies  a  new  connection  of  this  nature 
when  there  are  grown-up  children,  more  especially  on  the 
part  of  the  female.  Then  Anna  had  communicated  to  her 
mother  a  most  material  circumstance,  which  it  does  not 
suit  our  present  purpose  to  reveal. 

"  Now  for  a  dozen  pair  of  gloves  that  we  do  not  find 
Mary  Monson,"  said  the  lawyer,  as  he  walked  smartly 
toward  his  own  residence,  with  Anna  Updyke  under  his 
arm. 

"Done  !"  cried  the  young  lady — "and  you  shall  pay  if 
you  lose." 

"As  bound  in  honor.  Peter" — the  gray-headed  black 
who  answered  the  summons  to  the  door — "will  be  glad 
enough  to  see  us,  for  the  old  fellow  is  not  accustomed  to 
let  his  young  rogue  of  a  master  in  at  midnight,  with  a 
charming  young  woman  under  his  arm." 

Anna  Updyke  was  right.  Mary  Monson  was  in  a  deep 
sleep  on  the  sofa.  So  profound  was  her  rest,  there  was  a 
hesitation  about  disturbing  her ;  though  twelve,  the  hour 
set  for  the  return  of  the  carriage  to  Biberry,  was  near. 
For  a  few  minutes  Dunscomb  conversed  with  his  agreeable 
companion  in  his  own  library. 

"  If  Jack  knew  of  your  being  in  the  house,  he  would 
never  forgive  my  not  having  him  called." 

"  I  shall  have  plenty  of  occasions  for  seeing  Jack,"  re- 
turned the  young  lady,  coloring.  "You  know  how  assid< 
uous  he  is  in  this  cause,  and  how  devoted  he  is  to  the 
prisoner." 

"  Do  not  run  away  with  any  such  notion,  child  ;  Jack  is 
yours,  heart  and  soul." 

"  Hist — there  is  the  carriage  ;  Mary  must  be  called." 

Away  went  Anna,  laughing,  blushing,  but  with   tears  in 


216  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

her  eyes.     In  a  minute  Mary  Monson  made  her  appear- 
ance, somewhat  refreshed  and  calmed  by  her  short  nap. 

"Make  no  excuse  for  waking  mo,"  said  this  unaccount- 
able woman.  "We  can  both  sleep  on  the  road.  The 
carriage  is  as  easy  as  a  cradle  ;  and,  luckily,  the  roads  are 
quite  good." 

"  Still  they  lead  to  a  prison,  Mrs.  Monson." 
The  prisoner  smiled,  and  seemed  to  be  lost  in  thought. 
It  was  the  first  time  any  of  her  new  acquaintances  had 
ever  addressed  her  as  a  married  woman  ;  though  Marie 
Moulin,  with  the  exception  of  her  first  exclamation  at  their 
recent  meeting,  had  -invariably  used  the  appellation  of 
Madame.  All  this,  however,  was  soon  forgotten  in  the 
leave-taking.  Dunscomb  thought  he  had  seldom  seen  a 
female  of  higher  tone  of  manners,  or  greater  personal 
charms,  than  this  singular  and  mysterious  young  woman 
appeared  to  be,  as  she  courtesied  her  adieu. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

What  then  avail  impeachments,  or  the  law's 

Severest  condemnation,  while  the  queen 

May  snatch  him  from  the  uplifted  hand  of  justice  ? 

— Earl  of  Essex. 

PERHAPS  the  most  certain  proof  that  any  people  can  give 
of  a  high  moral  condition,  is  in  the  administration  of  jus- 
tice. Absolute  infallibility  is  unattainable  to  men  ;  but 
there  are  wide  chasms  in  right  and  wrong,  between  the 
legal  justice  of  one  state  of  society  and  that  of  another. 
As  the  descendants  of  Englishmen,  we  in  this  country  are 
apt  to  ascribe  a  higher  tone  of  purity  to  the  courts  of  the 
mother  country,  than  to  those  of  any  other  European 
nation.  In  this  we  may  be  right,  without  inferring  the  ne- 
cessity of  believing  that  the  ermine  of  England  is  spotless  ; 
for  it  can  never  be  forgotten  that  Bacon  and  Jeffries  once 
filled  her  highest  judicial  seats,  to  say  nothing  of  many 
others,  whose  abuses  of  their  trusts  have  doubtless  been 
lost  in  their  comparative  obscurity.  Passing  from  the 
parent  to  its  offspring,  the  condition  of  American  justice, 
so  far  as  it  is  dependent  on  the  bench,  is  a  profound  moral 
anomaly.  It  would  seem  that  every  known  expedient  of 
man  has  been  resorted  to,  to  render  it  corrupt,  feeble,  and 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  217 

ignorant  ;  yet  he  would  be  a  hardy,  not  to  say  an  audacious 
commentator,  who  should  presume  to  affirm  that  it  is  not 
entitled  to  stand  in  the  very  foremost  ranks  of  human  in- 
tegrity. 

Ill  paid,  without  retiring  pensions,  with  nothing  to  ex- 
pect in  the  way  of  family  and  hereditary  honors  and  dig- 
nities ;  with  little,  in  short,  either  in  possession  or  in  pros- 
spect,  to  give  any  particular  inducement  to  be  honest,  it  is 
certain  that,  as  a  whole,  the  judges  of  this  great  republic 
may  lay  claim  to  be  classed  among  the  most  upright  of 
which  history  furnishes  any  accounts.  Unhappily,  popular 
caprice,  and  popular  ignorance,  have  been  brought  to  bear 
on  the  selection  of  the  magistrates,  of  late  ;  and  it  is  easy 
to  predict  the  result,  which,  like  that  on  the  militia,  is  soon 
to  pull  down  even  this  all-important  machinery  of  society 
to  the  level  of  the  common  mind. 

Not  only  have  the  obvious  and  well-earned  inducements 
to  keep  men  honest — competence,  honors,  and  security  in 
office—been  recklessly  thrown  away  by  the  open  hand  of 
popular  delusion,  but  all  the  minor  expedients,  by  which 
those  who  cannot  think  might  be  made  to  feel,  have  been 
laid  aside,  leaving  the  machinery  of  justice  as  naked  as  the 
hand.  Although  the  colonial  system  was  never  elaborated 
in  these  last  particulars,  there  were  some  of  its  useful  and 
respectable  remains,  down  as  late  as  the  commencement 
of  the  present  century.  The  sheriff  appeared  with  his 
sword,  the  judge  was  escorted  to  and  from  the  court-house 
to  his  private  dwelling  with  some  show  of  attention  and 
respect,  leaving  a  salutary  impression  of  authority  on  the 
ordinary  observer.  All  this  has  disappeared.  The  judge 
slips  into  the  county-town  almost  unknown  ;  lives  at  an 
inn  amid  a  crowd  of  lawyers,  witnesses,  suitors,  jurors,  and 
horse-shedders,  as  Timms  calls  them  ;  finds  his  way  to  the 
bench  as  best  he  may ;  and  seems  to  think  that  the  more 
work  he  can  do  in  the  shortest  time  is  the  one  great 
purpose  of  his  appointment.  Nevertheless,  these  men, 
as  yet,  are  surprisingly  incorrupt  and  intelligent.  How 
long  it  will  remain  so,  no  one  can  predict ;  if  it  be  for  a 
human  life,  however,  the  working  of  the  problem  will  dem- 
onstrate the  fallibility  of  every  appreciation  of  human 
motives.  One  bad  consequence  of  the  depreciation  of  the 
office  of  a  magistrate,  however,  has  long  been  apparent,  in 
the  lessening  of  the  influence  of  the  judge  on  the  juries  ; 
the  power  that  alone  renders  the  latter  institution  even 
tolerable.  This  is  putting  an  irresponsible,  usually  an  ig- 


218  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR, 

norant,  and  often  corrupt  arbiter,  in  the  judgment  seat, 
in  lieu  of  the  man  of  high  qualities,  for  which  it  was  alone 
intended.  The  Circuit  and  Oyer  and  Terminer  for  Dukes 
presented  nothing  novel  in  its  bench,  its  bar,  its  jurors, 
and,  we  might  add,  its  witnesses.  The  first  was  a  cool- 
headed,  dispassionate  man,  with  a  very  respectable  amount 
of  legal  learning  and  experience,  and  a  perfectly  fair  char- 
acter. No  one  suspected  him  of  acting  wrong  from  evil 
motives  ;  and  when  he  did  err,  it  was  ordinarily  from  the 
pressure  of  business;  though,  occasionally,  he  was  mistaken, 
because  the  books  could  not  foresee  every  possible  phase  of 
a  case.  The  bar  was  composed  of  plain,  hard-working  men, 
materially  above  the  level  of  Timms,  except  in  connection 
with  mother-wit  ;  better  educated,  better  mannered,  and, 
as  a  whole,  of  materially  higher  origin  ;  though,  as  a  body, 
neither  profoundly  learned  nor  of  refined  deportment. 
Nevertheless,  these  persons  had  a  very  fair  portion  of  all 
the  better  qualities  of  the  Northern  professional  men. 
They  were  shrewd,  quick  in  the  application  of  their  ac- 
quired knowledge,  ready  in  their  natural  resources,  and 
had  that  general  aptitude  for  affairs  that  probably  is  the 
fruit  of  a  practice  that  includes  all  the  different  branches 
of  the  profession.  Here  and  there  was  a  usurer  and  extor- 
tioner among  them  ;  a  fellow  who  disgraced  his  calling  by 
running  up  unnecessary  bills  of  cost,  by  evading  the  penal 
statutes  passed  to  prevent  abuses  of  this  nature,  and  by  cun- 
ning attempts  to  obtain  more  for  the  use  of  his  money  than 
the  law  sanctioned.  But  such  was  not  the  general  character 
of  the  Dukes  County  bar,  which  was  rather  to  be  censured 
for  winking  at  irregular  proceedings  out  of  doors,  for 
brow-beating  witnesses,  and  for  regarding  the  end  so  in- 
tensely as  not  always  to  be  particular  in  reference  to  the 
means,  than  for  such  gross  and  positively  illegal  and  op- 
pressive measures  as  those  just  mentioned.  As  for  the 
jurors,  they  were  just  what  that  ancient  institution  might 
be  supposed  to  be,  in  a  country  where  so  many  of  the 
body  of  the  people  are  liable  to  be  summoned.  An  un- 
usually large  proportion  of  these  men,  when  all  the  cir- 
cumstances are  considered,  were  perhaps  as  fit  to  be  thus 
employed  as  could  be  obtained  from  the  body  of  the  com- 
munity of  any  country  on  earth  ;  but  a  very  serious  num- 
ber were  altogether  unsuited  to  perform  the  delicate  du- 
ties of  their  station.  Fortunately  the  ignorant  are  very 
apt  to  be  influenced  by  the  more  intelligent,  in  cases  of 
this  nature  ;  and  by  this  exercise  of  a  very  natural  power, 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  219 

less  injustice  is  committed  than  might  otherwise  occur. 
Here,  however,  is  the  opening  for  the  "  horse-shedding" 
and  "  pillowing,"  of  which  Timms  has  spoken,  and  "of 
which  so  much  use  is  made  around  every  country  court- 
house in  the  State.  This  is  the  crying  evil  of  the  times  ; 
and,  taken  in  connection  with  the  enormous  abuse  which 
is  rendering  a  competition  in  news  a  regular  money-get- 
ting occupation,  one  that  threatens  to  set  at  defiance  all 
laws,  principles,  and  facts. 

A  word  remains  to  be  said  of  the  witnesses.  Perhaps 
the  rarest  thing  connected  with  the  administration  of 
justice  all  over  the  world,  is  an  intelligent,  perfectly  im- 
partial, clear-headed,  discriminating  witness ;  one  who 
distinctly  knows  all  he  says,  fully  appreciates  the  effect  of 
his  words  on  the  jury,  and  who  has  the  disposition  to  sub- 
mit what  he  knows  solely  to  the  law  and  the  evidence. 
Men  of  experience  are  of  opinion  that  an  oath  usually  ex- 
tracts the  truth.  We  think  so  too,  but  it  is  truth  as  the 
witness  understands  it ;  facts  as  he  has  seen  them  ;  and 
opinions  that,  unconsciously  to  himself,  have  been  warped 
by  reports,  sneers  and  malice.  In  a  country  of  popular 
sway  like  this,  there  is  not  one  man  in  a  thousand,  prob- 
ably, who  has  sufficient  independence  of  mind,  or  suffi- 
cient moral  courage,  to  -fancy  he  has  seen  even  a  fact,  if  it 
be  of  importance,  differently  from  what  the  body  of  the 
community  has  seen  it ;  and  nothing  is  more  common  than 
to  find  witnesses  coloring  their  testimony,  lessening  its 
force  by  feeble  statements,  or  altogether  abandoning  the 
truth,  under  this  pressure  from  without,  in  cases  of  a  nat- 
ure and  magnitude  to  awake  a  strong  popular  feeling.  It 
is  by  no  means  uncommon,  indeed,  to  persuade  one  class 
of  men,  by  means  of  this  influence,  that  they  did  not  see 
that  which  actually  occurred  before  their  eyes,  or  that 
they  did  see  that  which  never  had  an  existence. 

Under  no  circumstances  do  men  congregate  with  less 
meritorious  motives  than  in  meeting  in  and  around  a  court 
of  justice.  The  object  is  victory,  and  the  means  of  obtain- 
ing it  will  not  always  bear  the  light.  The  approaching 
Circuit  and  Oyer  and  Terminer  of  Dukes  was  no  excep- 
tion to  the  rule  ;  a  crowd  of  evil  passions,  of  sinister  prac- 
tices, and  of  plausible  pretences,  being  arrayed  against 
justice  and  the  law  in  two-thirds  of  the  causes  on  the  cal- 
endar. Then  it  was  that  Timms  and  Saucy  Williams,  or 
Dick  Williams,  as  he  was  familiarly  termed  by  his  asso- 
ciates, came  out  in  their  strength,  playing  off  against  each 


220  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

other  the  out-door  practices  of  the  profession.  The  first 
indication  that  the  former  now  got  of  the  very  serious 
character  of  the  struggle  that  was  about  to  take  place  be- 
tween them  was  in  the  extraordinary  civility  of  saucy 
Williams  when  they  met  in  the  bar-room  of  the  inn  they 
each  frequented,  and  which  had  long  been  the  arena  of 
their  antagonistical  wit  and  practices. 

"I  never  saw  you  look  better,  Timms,"  said  Williams, 
in  the  most  cordial  manner  imaginable  ;  "on  the  whole,  I 
do  not  remember  to  have  ever  seen  you  looking  so  well. 
You  grow  younger  instead  of  older,  every  day  of  your  life. 
By  the  way,  do  you  intend  to  move  on  Butterfield  against 
Town  this  circuit  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  do  it,  if  you  are  ready.  Cross-no- 
tices have  been  given,  you  know." 

Williams  knew  this  very  well  ;  and  he  also  knew  that  it 
had  been  done  to  entitle  the  respective  parties  to  costs,  in 
the  event  of  anything  occurring  to  give  either  side  an  ad- 
vantage ;  the  cause  being  one  of  those  nuts  out  of  which 
practitioners  are  very  apt  to  extract  the  whole  of  the  ker- 
nel before  they  are  done  with  it. 

"Yes,  I  am  aware  of  that,  and  I  believe  we  are  quite 
ready.  I  see  that  Mr.  Town  is  here,  and  I  observe  several 
of  his  witnesses  ;  but  I  have  so  much  business,  I  have  no 
wish  to  try  a  long  slander  cause  ;  words  spoken  in  heat, 
and  never  thought  of  again,  but  to  make  a  profit  of 
them." 

"You  are  employed  against  us  in  the  murder  case,  I 
hear  ?" 

"  I  rather  think  the  friends  of  the  deceased  so  regard  it ; 
but  I  have  scarcely  had  time  to  look  at  the  testimony  be- 
fore the  coroner."  This  was  a  deliberate  mystification, 
and  Timms  perfectly  understood  it  as  such,  well  knowing 
that  the  other  had  given  the  outdoor  work  of  the  case 
nearly  all  of  his  time  for  the  last  fortnight — "  and  I  don't 
like  to  move  in  one  of  these  big  matters  without  knowing 
what  I  am  about.  Your  senior  counsel  has  not  yet  arrived 
from  town,  I  believe?" 

"  He  cannot  be  here  until  Wednesday,  having  to  argue 
a  great  insurance  case  before  the  Superior  Court  to-day 
and  to-morrow." 

This  conversation  occurred  after  the  grand  jury  had 
been  charged,  the  petit  jurors  sworn,  and  the  judge  had 
several  motions  for  correcting  the  calendar,  laying  causes 
over,  etc.,  etc.  Two  hours  later,  the  district  attorney  be- 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  221 

ing  absent  in  his  room,  engaged  with  the  grand  jury,  Wil- 
liams arose,  and  addressed  the  court,  which  had  just  called 
the  first  civil  cause  on  the  calendar. 

"May  it  please  the  court,"  he  said,  coolly,  but  with  the 
grave  aspect  of  a  man  who  felt  he  was  dealing  with  a  very 
serious  matter—"  there  is  a  capital  indictment  depending, 
a  case  of  arson  and  murder,  which  it  is  the  intention  of 
the  State  to  call  on  at  once." 

The  judge  looked  still  more  grave  than  the  counsel,  and 
it  wasveasy  to  see  that  he  deeply  regretted  it  should  fall  to 
his  lot  to  try  such  an  issue.  He  leaned  forward,  with  an 
elbow  on  the  very  primitive  sort  of  desk  with  which  he 
was  furnished  by  the  public,  indented  it  with  the  point  of 
his  knife,  and  appeared  to  be  passing  in  review  such  of 
the  circumstances  of  this  important  case  as  he  had  become 
acquainted  with,  judicially.  We  say  "judicially  ;"  for  it  is 
not  an  easy  thing  for  either  judge,  counsel,  or  jurors,  in 
the  state  of  society  that  now  exists,  to  keep  distinctly  in 
their  minds  that  which  has  been  obtained  under  legal 
evidence,  from  that  which  floats  about  the  community  on 
the  thousand  tongues  of  rumor — fact  from  fiction.  Never- 
theless, the  respectable  magistrate  whose  misfortune  it  was 
to  preside  on  this  very  serious  occasion,  was  a  man  to  per- 
form all  his  duty  to  the  point  where  public  opinion  or 
popular  clamor  is  encountered.  The  last  is  a  bugbear  that 
few  have  moral  courage  to  face  ;  and  the  evil  consequences 
are  visible,  hourly,  daily,  almost  incessantly,  in  most  of 
the  interests  of  life.  This  popular  feeling  is  the  great 
moving  lever  of  the  republic  ;  the  wronged  being  placed 
beneath  the  fulcrum,  while  the  outer  arm  of  the  engine  is 
loaded  with  numbers.  Thus  it  is  that  we  see  the  oldest 
families  among  us  quietly  robbed  of  their  estates,  after 
generations  of  possession  ;  the  honest  man  proscribed  ;  the 
knave  and  demagogue  deified  ;  mediocrity  advanced  to 
high  places ;  and  talents  and  capacity  held  in  abeyance,  if 
not  actually  trampled  under  foot.  Let  the  truth  be  said  : 
these  are  evils  to  which  each  year  gives  additional  force, 
until  the  tyranny  of  the  majority  has  taken  a  form  and 
combination  which,  unchecked,  must  speedily  place  every 
personal  right  at  the  mercy  of  plausible,  but  wrong-doing, 
popular  combinations. 

"Has  the  prisoner  been  arraigned?"  asked  the  judge. 
"  I  remember  nothing  of  the  sort." 

"No,  your  honor,"  answered  Timms,  now  rising  for  the 
first  time  in  the  discussion,  and  looking  about  him  as  if  to 


222  THE   IV AYS    OF   THE  HOUR. 

scan  the  crowd  for  witnesses.  "  The  prosecution  does  not 
yet  know  the  plea  we  shall  put  in." 

''You  are  retained  for  the  prisoner,  Mr.  Timms?" 

"Yes,  sir;  I  appear  in  her  behalf.  But  Mr.  Dunscomb 
is  also  retained,  and  will  be  engaged  in  the  New  York  Su- 
perior Court  until  Wednesday,  in  an  insurance  case  of 
great  magnitude." 

"  No  insurance  case  can  be  of  the  magnitude  of  a  trial 
for  life,"  returned  Williams.  "The  justice  of  the  State 
must  be  vindicated,  and  the  person  of  the  citizen  pro- 
tected." 

This  sounded  well,  and  it  caused  many  a  head  in  the 
crowd,  which  contained  both  witnesses  and  jurors,  to  nod 
with  approbation.  It  is  true  that  every  thoughtful  and 
observant  man  must  have  had  many  occasions  to  observe 
how  fallacious  such  a  declaration  is  in  truth  ;  but  it  sounded 
well,  and  the  ears  of  the  multitude  are  always  open  to  flat- 
tery. 

"We  have  no  wish  to  interfere  with  the  justice  of  the 
State,  or  with  the  protection  of  the  citizen,"  answered 
Timms,  looking  round  to  note  the  effect  of  his  words — 
"our  object  is  to  defend  the  innocent ;  and  the  great  and 
powerful  community  of  New  York  will  find  more  pleasure 
in  seeing  an  accused  acquitted  than  in  seeing  fifty  crimi- 
nals condemned." 

This  sentiment  sounded  quite  as  well  as  that  of  Wil- 
liams's,  and  heads  were  again  nodded  in  approbation.  It 
told  particularly  well  in  a  paragraph  of  a  newspaper  that 
Timms  had  engaged  to  publish  what  he  considered  his  best 
remarks. 

"It  seems  to  me,  gentlemen,"  interposed  the  judge,  who 
understood  the  meaning  of  these  ad  captandum  remarks 
perfectly  well,  "that  your  conversation  is  premature  at 
least,  if  not  altogether  improper.  Nothing  of  this  nature 
should  be  said  until  the  prisoner  has  been  arraigned." 

"  I  submit,  your  honor,  and  acknowledge  the  justice  of 
the  reproof,"  answered  Williams.  "  I  now  move  the  court, 
on  behalf  of  the  district  attorney,  that  Mary  Monson,  who 
stands  indicted  for  murder  and  arson,  be  arraigned,  and  her 
pleas  entered— 

"  I  could  wish  this  step  might  be  delayed  until  I  can  hear 
from  the  leading  counsel  for  the  defence,"  objected  Timms, 
"which  must  now  occur  in  the  course  of  a  very  few  hours." 

"  I  perceive  that  the  prisoner  is  a  female,"  said  the  judge, 
in  a  tone  of  regret. 


THE   IV, I  YS    ()/<'    7 'III-.    HOUR.  223 

"Yes,  your  honor,  she  is,  and  young  and  handsome,  they 
tell  me,"  answered  Williams  ;  "  for  I  have  never  been  able 
to  get  a  sight  of  her.  She  is  too  much  of  a  great  lady  to 
be  seen  at  a  grate,  by  all  I  can  learn  of  her  and  her  pro- 
ceedings. Plays  on  the  harp,  sir  ;  has  a  French  valet  de 
chambre,  or  something  of  that  sort— 

"This  is  all  wrong,  Mr.  Williams,  and  must  be  checked," 
again  interposed  the  judge,  though  very  mildly  ;  for,  while 
his  experience  taught  him  that  the  object  of  such  remarks 
was  to  create  prejudice,  and  his  conscience  prompted  him 
to  put  an  end  to  a  proceeding  so  unrighteous,  he  stood  in 
so  much  awe  of  this  particular  counsel,  who  had  half  a 
dozen  presses  at  his  command,  that  it  required  a  strong 
inducement  to  bring  him  out,  as  he  ought  to  be,  in  oppo- 
sition to  any  of  his  more  decided  movements.  As  for  the 
community,  with  the  best  intentions  as  a  whole,  it  stood 
passive  under  this  gross  wrong.  What  is  "  everybody's 
business  "  is  literally  "  nobody's  business,"  when  the  public 
virtue  is  the  great  moving  power ;  the  upright  preferring 
their  ease  to  everything  else,  and  the  ill-disposed  manifest- 
ing the  ceaseless  activity  of  the  wicked.  All  the  ancient 
barriers  to  this  species  of  injustice,  which  have  been  erected 
by  the  gathered  wisdom  of  our  fathers  and  the  experience 
of  ages,  have  been  thrown  down  by  the  illusions  of  a  seem- 
ing liberty,  and  the  whole  machinery  of  justice  is  left  very 
much  at  the  mercy  of  an  outside  public  opinion,  which,  in 
itself,  is  wielded  by  a  few  of  the  worst  men  in  the  country. 
These  are  sober  truths,  as  a  close  examination  will  show  to 
any  one  who  may  choose  to  enter  into  the  investigation  of 
the  ungrateful  subject.  It  is  not  what  is  said>  we  very  well 
know  ;  but  it  is  what  is  done. 

Williams  received  the  mild  rebuke  of  the  judge  like  one 
who  felt  his  position ;  paying  very  little  respect  to  its  spirit 
or  its  letter.  He  knew  his  own  power,  and  understood  per- 
fectly well  that  this  particular  magistrate  was  soon  to  run 
for  a  new  term  of  office,  and  might  be  dealt  with  more 
freely  on  that  account. 

"  I  know  it  is  very  wrong,  your  honor — very  wrong  " — 
rejoined  the  wily  counsel  to  what  had  been  said — "so 
wrong,  that  I  regard  it  as  an  insult  to  the  State.  When  a 
person  is  capitally  indicted,  man  or  woman,  it  is  his  or  her 
bounden  duty  to  put  all  overboard,  that  there  may  be  no 
secrets.  The  harp  was  once  a  sacred  instrument,  and  it  is 
highly  improper  to  introduce  it  into  our  jails  and  criminals' 
cells " 


224  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

**  There  is  no  criminal  as  yet — no  crime  can  be  estab- 
lished without  proof,  and  the  verdict  of  twelve  good  men 
and  true,"  interrupted  Timms — "I  object,  therefore,  to  the 
learned  counsel's  remarks,  and — 

"  Gentlemen,  gentlemen,"  put  in  the  judge,  a  little  more 
pointedly  than  in  his  former  rebuke — "  this  is  all  wrong,  I 
repeat." 

"You  perceive,  my  brother  Timms," rejoined  the  indom- 
itable Williams,  "  the  court  is  altogether  against  you.  This 
is  not  a  country  of  lords  and  ladies,  fiddles  and  harps,  but 
of  the  people  j  and  when  the  people  find  a  bill  for  a  capital 
offence,  capital  care  should  be  taken  not  to  give  more 
offence." 

Williams  had  provided  himself  with  a  set  of  supporters 
that  are  common  enough  in  the  courts,  whose  business  it 
was  to  grin,  and  sneer,  and  smile,  and  look  knowing  at 
particular  hits  of  the  counsel,  and  otherwise  to  back  up 
his  wit,  and  humor,  and  logic,  by  the  agency  of  sympathy. 
This  expedient  is  getting  to  be  quite  common,  and  is  con- 
stantly practised  in  suits  that  relate  in  any  manner  to  poli- 
tics or  political  men.  It  is  not  so  common,  certainly,  in 
trials  for  life  ;  though  it  may  be,  and  has  been,  used  with 
effect  even  on  such  serious  occasions.  The  influence  of 
these  wily  demonstrations,  which  are  made  to  have  the  ap- 
pearance of  public  opinion,  is  very  great  on  the  credulous 
and  ignorant ;  men  thus  narrowly  gifted  invariably  look- 
ing around  them  to  find  support  in  the  common  mind. 

The  hits  of  Williams  told,  to  Timms's  great  annoyance  ; 
nor  did  he  know  exactly  how  to  parry  them.  Had  he 
been  the  assailant  himself,  he  could  have  wielded  the 
weapons  of  his  antagonist  with  equal,  skill;  but  his  dex- 
terity was  very  much  confined  to  the  offensive  in  cases  of 
this  nature  ;  for  he  perfectly  comprehended  all  the  preju- 
dices on  which  it  was  necessary  to  act,  while  he  possessed 
but  a  very  narrow  knowledge  of  the  means  of  correcting 
them.  Nevertheless,  it  would  not  do  to  let  the  prosecu- 
tion close  the  business  of  the  day  with  so  much  of  the  air 
of  triumph,  and  the  indomitable  attorney  made  another 
effort  to  place  his  client  more  favorably  before  the  public 
eye. 

"  The  harp  is  a  most  religious  instrument,"  he  coolly  ob- 
served, "  and  it  has  no  relation  to  the  violin,  or  any  light 
and  frivolous  piece  of  music.  David  used  it  as  the  instru- 
ment of  praise,  and  why  should  not  a  person  who  stands 
charged " 


THE   WAYS   OF    THE   HOUR.  225 

"  I  have  told  you,  gentlemen,  that  all  this  is  irregular, 
and  cannot  be  permitted,"  cried  the  judge,  with  a  little 
more  of  the  appearance  of  firmness  than  he  had  yet  ex- 
hibited. 

The  truth  was,  that  he  stood  less  in  fear  of  Timms  than 
of  Williams  ;  the  connection  of  the  last  with  the  reporters 
being  known  to  be  much  the  most  extensive.  But  Timms 
knew  his  man,  and  understood  very  well  what  the  com- 
mittal of  counsel  had  got  to  be,  under  the  loose  notions 
of  liberty  that  have  grown  up  in  the  country  within  the 
last  twenty  years.  Time  was,  and  that  at  no  remote  period, 
when  the  lawyer  who  had  been  thus  treated  for  indecorum 
at  the  bar  would  have  been  a  disgraced  man,  and  would 
have  appealed  in  vain  to  the  community  for  sympathy ; 
little  or  none  would  he  have  received.  Men  then  under- 
stood that  the  law  was  their  master,  established  by  them- 
selves, and  was  to  be  respected  accordingly.  But  that 
feeling  is  in  a  great  measure  extinct.  Liberty  is  every 
hour  getting  to  be  more  and  more  personal ;  its  concen- 
tration consisting  in  rendering  every  man  his  own  legisla- 
tor, his  own  judge,  and  his  own  juror.  It  is  monarchical 
and  aristocratic,  and  all  that  is  vile  and  dangerous,  to  see 
power  exercised  by  any  but  the  people  ;  and  those  whom 
the  constitution  and  the  laws  have  set  apart  expressly  to 
discharge  a  delegated  authority  being  obliged,  by  clamors 
sustained  by  all  the  arts  of  cupidity  and  fraud,  to  defer  to 
the  passing  opinions  of  the  hour.  No  one  knew  this  bet- 
ter than  Timms,  who  had  just  as  lively  a  recollection  as 
his  opponent  that  this  very  judge  was  to  come  before  the 
people  in  the  next  autumn,  as  a  candidate  for  re-election. 
The  great  strain  of  American  foresight  was  consequently 
applied  to  this  man's  conscience,  who,  overworked  and 
under-paid,  was  expected  to  rise  above  the  weaknesses  of 
humanity,  as  a  sort  of  sublimated  political  theory  that  is 
getting  to  be  much  in  fashion,  and  which,  //  true,  would 
supersede  the  necessity  of  any  court  or  any  government 
at  all.  Timms  knew  this  well,  and  was  not  to  be  restrained 
by  one  who  was  thus  stretched,  as  it  might  be,  on  the  ten- 
ter-hooks of  political  uncertainty. 

"Yes,  your  honor,"  returned  this  indomitable  individual, 
"  I  am  fully  aware  of  its  impropriety,  and  was  just  as  much 
so  when  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution  was  carrying  it 
on  to  the  injury  of  my  client  ;  I  might  say  almost  un- 
checked, if  not  encouraged." 

"The  court  did  its  best  to   stop   Mr.  Williams,  sir  ;  and 


226  THE   WAYS    Ofi    THE   HOUR. 

must  do  the  same  to  keep  you  within  the  proper  limits  oi 
practice.  Unless  these  improprieties  are  restrained  I  shall 
confine  the  counsel  for  the  State  to  the  regular  officer, 
and  assign  new  counsel  to  the  accused,  as  from  the  court." 

Both  Williams  and  Timms  looked  amused  at  this  men- 
ace, neither  having  the  smallest  notion  the  judge  dare  put 
such  a  threat  in  execution.  What !  presume  to  curb 
licentiousness  when  it  chose  to  assume  the  aspect  of  hu- 
man rights  ?  This  was  an  act  behind  the  age,  more  espe- 
cially in  a  country  in  which  liberty  is  so  fast  getting  to  be 
all  means,  with  so  very  little  regard  to  the  end. 

A  desultory  conversation  ensued,  when  it  was  finally 
settled  that  the  trial  must  be  postponed  until  the  arrival 
of  the  counsel  expected  from  town.  From  the  beginning 
of  the  discussion,  Williams  knew  that  such  must  be  the 
termination  of  that  day's  work  ;  but  he  had  accomplished 
two  great  objects  by  his  motion.  In  the  first  place,  by 
conceding  delay  to  the  accused  it  placed  the  prosecution 
on  ground  where  a  similar  favor  might  be  asked,  should  it 
be  deemed  expedient.  This  resisting  motions  for  delay  is 
a  common  ruse  of  the  bar,  since  it  places  the  party  whose 
rights  are  seemingly  postponed  in  a  situation  to  demand  a 
similar  concession.  Williams  knew  that  his  case  was  ready 
as  related  to  his  brief,  the  testimony,  and  all  that  could 
properly  be  produced  in  court,  but  he  thought  it  might  be 
strengthened  out  of  doors,  among  the  jurors  and  witnesses. 
We  say  the  witnesses,  because  even  this  class  of  men  get 
their  impressions,  quite  frequently,  as  much  from  what 
they  subsequently  hear,  as  from  what  they  have  seen  and 
known.  A  good  reliable  witness,  who  relates  no  more 
than  he  actually  knows,  conceals  nothing,  colors  nothing, 
and  leaves  a  perfectly  fair  impression  of  the  truth,  is  per- 
haps the  rarest  of  all  the  parties  concerned  in  the  admin- 
istration of  justice.  No  one  understood  this  better  than 
Williams  ;  and  his  agents  were,  at  that  very  moment,  ac- 
tively employed  in  endeavoring  to  persuade  certain  indi- 
viduals that  they  knew  a  great  deal  more  of  the  facts  con- 
nected with  the  murders  than  the  truth  would  justify. 
This  was  not  done  openly  or  directly  ;  not  in  a  way  to 
alarm  the  consciences  or  pride  of  those  who  were  to  be 
duped,  but  by  the  agency  of  hints,  and  suggestions,  and 
plausible  reasonings,  and  all  the  other  obvious  devices,  by 
means  of  which  the  artful  and  unprincipled  are  enabled 
to  act  on  the  opinions  of  the  credulous  and  inexperi 
enced. 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  225 

While  all  these  secret  engines  were  at  work  in  the  streets 
of  Biberry  the  external  machinery  of  justice  was  set  in 
motion  with  the  usual  forms.  Naked,  but  business-like, 
the  blind  goddess  was  invoked  with  what  is  termed  "  re- 
publican simplicity,"  one  of  the  great  principles  of  which, 
in  some  men's  estimation,  is  to  get  the  maximum  of  work 
at  the  minimum  of  cost.  We  are  no  advocates  for  the 
senseless  parade  and  ruthless  expenditure — ruthless,  be- 
cause extracted  from  the  means  of  the  poor — with  which 
the  governments  of  the  old  world  have  invested  their  dig- 
nity ;  and  we  believe  that  the  reason  of  men  may  be  con- 
fided in,  in  managing  these  matters,  to  a  certain  extent ; 
though  not  to  the  extent  that  it  would  seem  to  be  the 
fashion  of  the  American  theories,  to  be  desirable.  Wigs 
of  all  kinds,  even  when  there  is  a  deficiency  of  hair,  we 
hold  in  utter  detestation  ;  and  we  shall  maintain  that  no 
more  absurd  scheme  of  clothing  the  human  countenance 
with  terror  was  ever  devised  than  to  clothe  it  with  flax. 
Nevertheless,  as  comfort,  decency,  and  taste  unite  in  rec- 
ommending clothing  of  some  sort  or  other,  we  do  not  see 
why  the  judicial  functionary  should  not  have  his  appro- 
priate attire  as  well  as  the  soldier,  the  sailor,  or  the  priest. 
It  does  not  necessarily  follow  that  extravagances  are  to  be 
imitated  if  we  submit  to  this  practice  ;  though  we  incline 
to  the  opinion  that  a  great  deal  of  the  nakedness  of  "  re- 
publican simplicity,"  which  has  got  to  be  a  sort  of  political 
idol  in  the  land,  has  its  origin  in  a  spirit  that  denounces 
the  past  as  a  species  of  moral  sacrifice  to  the  present  time. 

Let  all  this  be  as  it  may,  it  is  quite  certain  that  u  repub- 
lican simplicity  " — the  slang  lever  by  means  of  which  the 
artful  move  the  government — has  left  the  administration 
of  justice  among  us,  so  far  as  externals  are  concerned,  as 
naked  as  may  be.  Indeed,  so  much  have  the  judges  become 
exposed  to  sinister  influences,  by  means  of  the  intimacies 
with  which  they  are  invested  by  means  of  "  republican 
simplicity,"  that  it  has  been  found  expedient  to  make  a 
special  provision  against  undue  modes  of  approaching 
their  ears,  all  of  which  would  have  been  far  more  effi- 
ciently secured  by  doubling  their  salaries,  making  a  re- 
spectable provision  for  old  age  in  the  way  of  pensions,  and 
surrounding  them  with  such  forms  as  would  keep  the  evil 
disposed  at  reasonable  distance.  Neither  Timms  nor 
"  saucy  Williams,"  however,  reasoned  in  this  fashion. 
They  were,  in  a  high  degree,  practical  men,  and  saw 
things  as  they  are  ;  not  as  they  ought  to  be.  Little  was 


228  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

either  troubled  with  theories,  regrets,  or  principles.  It 
was  enough  for  each  that  he  was  familiar  with  the  work- 
ings of  the  system  under  which  he  lived  ;  and  which  he 
knew  how  to  pervert  in  a  way  the  most  likely  to  effect  his 
own  purposes. 

The  reader  may  be  surprised  at  the  active  pertinacity 
with  which  Williams  pursued  one  on  trial  for  her  life  ;  a 
class  of  persons  with  whom  the  bar  usually  professes  to 
deal  tenderly  and  in  mercy.  But  the  fact  was  that  he  had 
been  specially  retained  by  the  next  of  kin,  who  had  large 
expectations  from  the  abstracted  hoards  of  his  aunt  ;  and 
that  the  fashion  of  the  day  had  enabled  him  to  achieve 
such  a  cent  per  cent  bargain  with  his  client,  as  caused  his 
own  compensation  altogether  to  depend  on  the  measure 
of  his  success.  Should  Mary  Monson  be  sentenced  to  the 
gallows  it  was  highly  probable  her  revelations  would  put 
the  wronged  in  the  way  of  being  righted,  when  this  limb 
of  the  law  would,  in  all  probability,  come  in  for  a  full 
share  of  the  recovered  gold.  How  different  all  this  was 
from  the  motives  and  conduct  of  Dunscomb,  the  reader 
will  readily  perceive  ;  for,  while  the  profession  in  this 
country  abounds  with  Williamses  and  Timmses,  men  of 
the  highest  tone  of  feeling,  the  fairest  practice,  and  the 
clearest  perceptions  of  what  is  right,  are  by  no  means 
strangers  to  the  bar. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

Thou  hast  already  racked  me  with  thy  stay  ; 
Therefore  require  me  not  to  ask  thee  twice  : 
Reply  at  once  to  all.  What  is  concluded  ? 

— Mourning  Bride. 

DURING  the  interval  between  the  occurrence  of  the  scene 
in  court  that  has  just  been  related,  and  the  appearance  of 
Dunscomb  at  Biberry,  the  community  was  rapidly  taking 
sides  on  the  subject  of  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  Mary 
Monson.  The  windows  of  the  jail  were  crowded  all  day  ; 
throngs  collecting  there  to  catch  glimpses  of  the  extraor- 
dinary female,  who  was  rightly  enough  reported  to  be  liv- 
ing in  a  species  of  luxury  in  so  unusual  a  place,  and  who 
was  kn«wn  to  play  on  an  instrument  that  the  popular 
mind  was  a  good  deal  disposed  to  regard  as  sacred.  As  a 
matter  of  course,  a  hundred  stories  were  in  circulation, 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  229 

touching  the  character,  history,  sayings,  and  doings  of 
this  remarkable  person,  that  had  no  foundation  whatever 
in  truth  ;  for  it  is  an  infirmity  of  human  nature  to  circu- 
late and  place  its  belief  in  falsehoods  of  this  sort  ;  and 
more  especially  of  human  nature  as  it  is  exhibited  in  a 
country  where  care  has  been  taken  to  stimulate  the  curi- 
osity of  the  vulgar,  without  exactly  placing  them  in  a 
condition  to  appease  its  longings,  either  intelligently  or 
in  a  very  good  taste. 

This  interest  would  have  been  manifested,  in  such  a 
case,  had  there  been  no  particular  moving  cause  ;  but  the 
secret  practices  of  Williams  and  Timms  greatly  increased 
its  intensity,  and  was  bringing  the  population  of  Dukes  to 
a  state  of  excitement  that  was  very  little  favorable  to  an 
impartial  administration  of  justice.  Discussions  had  taken 
place  at  every  corner,  and  in  all  the  bar-rooms  ;  and  many 
were  the  alleged  facts  connected  with  the  murders,  which 
had  their  sole  existence  in  rumor,  that  was  adduced  in 
the  heat  of  argument,  or  to  make  out  a  suppositious  case. 
All  this  time,  Williams  was  either  in  court,  attending 
closely  to  his  different  causes,  or  was  seen  passing  be- 
tween the  court-house  and  the  tavern,  with  bundles  of 
papers  under  his  arms,  like  a  man  absorbed  in  business. 
Timms  played  a  very  similar  part,  though  he  found  leisure 
to  hold  divers  conferences  with  several  of  his  confidential 
agents.  Testimony  was  his  aim  ;  and,  half  a  dozen  time% 
when  he  fancied  himself  on  the  point  of  establishing 
something  new  and  important,  the  whole  of  the  ingenious 
fabric  he  had  reared  came  tumbling  about  his  ears,  in 
consequence  of  some  radical  defect  in  the  foundation. 

Such  was  the  state  of  things  on  the  evening  of  Wednes- 
day, the  day  preceding  that  which  had  been  set  down  for 
the  trial,  when  the  stage  arrived  bringing  "  Squire  Duns- 
comb,"  his  carpet-bags,  his  trunk,  and  his  books.  McBrain 
shortly  after  drove  up  in  his  own  carriage,  and  Anna  was 
soon  in  her  mother's  arms.  The  excitement,  so  general  in 
the  place,  had  naturally  enough  extended  to  these  females  ; 
and  Mrs.  McBrain  and  her  daughter  were  soon  closeted, 
talking  over  the  affair  of  Mary  Monsort. 

About  eight  that  evening,  Dunscomb  and  Timms  were 
busy  looking  over  minutes  of  testimony,  briefs,  and  other 
written  documents  that  were  connected  with  the  approach- 
ing trial.  Mrs.  Horton  had  reserved  the  best  room  in  her 
house  for  this  distinguished  counsel  ;  an  apartment  in  a 
wing  that  was  a  good  deal  removed  from  the  noise  and 


230  THE    WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

bustle  of  a  leading  inn,  during  a  circuit.  Here  Dunscomb 
had  been  duly  installed,  and  here  he  early  set  up  "  his  traps," 
as  he  termed  his  flesh-brushes,  sponges,  briefs,  and  calfskin- 
covered  volumes.  Two  tallow  candles  threw  a  dim,  lawyer- 
like  light  on  the  scene  ;  while  unrolled  paper-curtains  shut 
out  as  much  of  night  as  such  an  imperfect  screen  could 
exclude.  The  odor  of  cigars — excellent  Havanas,  by  the 
way — was  fragrant  in  the  place  ;  and  one  of  the  little  foun- 
tains of  smoke  was  stuck  knowingly  in  a  corner  of  the 
eminent  counsel's  mouth,  while  Timms  had  garnished  his 
skinny  lips  with  the  short  stump  of  a  pipe.  Neither  said 
anything  ;  one  of  the  parties  presenting  documents  that 
the  other  read  in  silence.  Such  was  the  state  of  matters, 
when  a  slight  tap  at  the  door  was  succeeded  by  the  unex- 
pected appearance  of  "saucy  Williams."  Timms  started, 
gathered  together  all  his  papers  with  the  utmost  care,  and 
awaited  the  explanation  of  this  unlooked-for  visit  with  the 
most  lively  curiosity.  Dunscomb,  on  the  other  hand,  re- 
ceived his  guest  with  urbanity,  and  like  one  who  felt  that 
the  wrangling  of  the  bar,  in  which,  by  the  way,  he  had  too 
much  self-respect  and  good  temper  to  indulge,  had  no  nec- 
essary connection  with  the  courtesies  of  private  life. 

Williams  had  scarcely  a  claim  superior  to  those  of 
Timms,  to  be  considered  a  gentleman  ;  though  he  had  the 
advantage  of  having  been  what  is  termed  liberally  edu- 
£ated — a  phrase  of  very  doubtful  import,  when  put  to  the 
test  of  old-fashioned  notions  on  such  subjects.  In  man- 
ners, he  had  the  defects,  and  we  may  add  the  merits,  of 
the  school  in  which  he  had  been  educated.  All  that 
had  been  said  of  Timms  on  this  subject,  in  the  way  of 
censure,  was  equally  applicable  to  Williams  ;  but  the  last 
possessed  self-command,  an  admirable  reliance  on  his  own 
qualities,  which  would  have  fittted  him,  as  regards  this 
one  quality,  to  be  an  emperor.  Foreigners  wonder  at  the 
self-possession  of  Americans  in  the  presence  of  the  great ; 
and  it  is  really  one  of  the  merits  of  the  institution  that  it 
causes  every  person  to  feel  that  he  is  a  man,  and  entitled 
to  receive  the  treatment  due  to  a  being  so  high  in  the 
scale  of  earthly  creations.  It  is  true,  that  this  feeling  of- 
ten degenerates  into  a  vulgar  and  oversensitive  jealousy, 
frequently  rendering  its  possessor  exacting  and  ridiculous  ; 
but  on  the  whole,  the  effect  is  manly,  not  to  say  ennobling. 

Now  Williams  was  self-possessed  by  nature,  as  well  as 
by  association  and  education.  Though  keenly  alive  to  the 
differences  and  chances  of  fortune,  he  never  succumbed  to 


THE   WA  YS   OF   THE  HOUR.  23! 

mere  rank  and  wealth.  Intriguing  by  disposition,  not  to 
say  by  education,  he  could  affect  a  deference  he  did  not 
feel ;  but,  apart  from  the  positive  consequences  of  power, 
he  was  not  to  be  daunted  by  the  presence  of  the  most 
magnificent  sovereign  who  ever  reigned.  No  wonder, 
then,  that  he  felt  quite  at  home  in  the  company  of  his 
present  host,  though  fully  aware  that  he  was  one  of  the 
leading  members  of  the  New  York  bar.  As  a  proof  of  this 
independence  may  be  cited  the  fact  that  he  had  no  sooner 
paid  his  salutations  and  been  invited  to  be  seated,  than  he 
deliberately  selected  a  cigar  from  the  open  box  of  Duns- 
comb,  lighted  it,  took  a  chair,  raised  one  leg  coolly  on  the 
corner  of  a  table,  and  began  to  smoke. 

"The  calendar  is  a  little  crowded,"  observed  this  free- 
and-easy  visitor,  "and  is  likely  to  carry  us  over  into  the 
middle  of  next  week.  Are  you  retained  in  Daniels  against 
Fireman's  Insurance?" 

"  I  am  not — a  brief  was  offered  by  the  plaintiff,  but  1 
declined  taking  it." 

"A  little  conscientious,  I  suppose.  Well,  I  leave  all  the 
sin  of  my  suits  on  the  shoulders  of  my  clients.  It  is  bad 
enough  to  listen  to  their  griefs,  without  being  called  on  to 
smart  for  them.  I  have  heard  you  are  in  Cogswell  against 
Davidson  ? " 

"In  that  cause  I  have  been  retained.  I  may  as  well  say, 
at  once,  we  intend  to  move  it  on." 

"It's  of  no  great  moment — if  you  beat  us  at  the  circuit, 
our  turn  will  come  on  execution." 

"I  believe,  Mr.  Williams,  your  clients  have  a  knack  at 
gaining  the  day  in  that  mode.  It  is  of  no  great  interest 
to  me,  however,  as  I  rarely  take  the  management  of  a 
cause  after  it  quits  the  courts." 

"  How  do  you  like  the  Code,  Brother  Dunscomb  ?" 

"  Damnable,  sir.  I  am  too  old,  in  the  first  place,  to  like 
change.  Then  change  from  bad  to  worse  is  adding  folly 
to  imbecility.  The  Common  Law  practice  had  its  faults, 
I  allow  ;  but  this  new  system  has  no  merits." 

"  I  do  not  go  as  far  as  that ;  and  I  rather  begin  to  like 
the  new  plan  of  remuneration.  We  are  nothing  out  of 
pocket,  and  sometimes  are  a  handsome  sum  in.  You  de- 
fend Mary  Monson  ? " 

Timms  felt  assured  that  his  old  antagonist  had  now 
reached  the  case  that  had  really  brought  him  to  the  room. 
He  fidgeted,  looked  eagerly  round  to  see  that  no  stray 
paper  could  fall  beneath  the  hawk-like  eye  of  the  other 


232  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

party,  and  then  sat  in  comparative  composure,  waiting  the 
result. 

"I  do,"  Dunscomb  quietly  replied;  "and  I  shall  do  it 
con  amore — I  suppose  you  know  what  that  means,  Mr. 
Williams  ? " 

A  sarcastic  smile  passed  over  the  steeled  countenance 
of  the  other,  his  appearance  being  literally  sardonic  for  an 
instant. 

"  I  presume  I  do.  We  know  enough  Latin  in  Dukes  to 
get  along  with  such  a  quotation  ;  though  our  friend  Timms 
here  despises  the  classics.  '  Con  amore  '  means  in  this  in- 
stance, 'a  lover's  zeal,'  I  suppose  ;  for  they  tell  me  that  all 
who  approach  the  criminal  submit  to  her  power  to  charm." 

"The  accused,  if  you  please,"  put  in  the  opposing  at- 
torney ;  "  but  no  criminal,  until  the  word  '  guilty '  has  been 
pronounced." 

"  I  am  convicted.  They  say  you  are  to  be  the  happy 
man,  Timms,  in  the  event  of  an  acquittal.  It  is  reported 
all  over  the  county,  that  you  are  to  become  Mr.  Monson  as 
a  reward  for  your  services  ;  and  if  half  that  I  hear  be  true, 
you  will  deserve  her,  with  a  good  estate  in  the  bargain." 

Here  Williams  laughed  heartily  at  his  own  wit ;  but 
Dunscomb  looked  grave,  while  his  associate  counsel  looked 
angry.  In  point  of  fact  the  nail  had  been  hit  on  the  head ; 
and  consciousness  lighted  the  spirit  within,  with  its  calm, 
mild  glow.  The  senior  counsel  was  too  proud  and  too 
dignified  to  make  any  reply;  but  Timms  was  troubled  with 
no  such  feeling. 

"If  there  are  any  such  rumors  in  old  Dukes,"  retorted 
the  last,  "  it  will  not  need  mesmerism  to  discover  their 
author.  In  my  opinion,  the  people  ought  to  carry  on 
their  suits  in  a  spirit  of  liberality  and  justice  ;  and  not  in 
a  vindictive,  malicious  temper." 

"We  are  all  of  the  same  way  of  thinking,"  answered 
Williams,  with  a  sneer.  "I  consider  it  liberal  to  give  you 
a  handsome  young  woman  with  a  full  purse  ;  though  no 
one  can  say  how,  or  by  whom,  it  has  been  filled.  By  the 
way,  Mr.  Dunscomb,  I  am  instructed  to  make  a  proposal 
to  you  ;  and  as  Timms  is  in  the  court,  this  may  be  as  good 
a  moment  as  another  to  present  it  for  consideration.  My 
offer  is  from  the  nephew,  next  of  kin,  and  sole  heir  of  the 
late  Peter  Goodwin  ;  by  whom,  as  you  probably  know,  I 
am  retained.  This  gentleman  is  well  assured  that  his  de- 
ceased relatives  had  a  large  sum  in  gold  by  them,  at  the 
time  of  the  murders " 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  233 

"  No  verdict  has  yet  shown  that  there  have  been  any 
murders  at  all,"  interrupted  Tim  ins. 

"We  have  the  verdict  of  the  inquest,  begging  your  par- 
don, brother  Timms — that  is  something,  surely  ;  though 
not  enough,  quite  likely,  to  convince  your  mind.  But,  to 
proceed  with  my  proposition  : — My  client  is  well  assured 
that  such  a  secret  fund  existed.  He  also  knows  that  your 
client,  gentlemen,  is  flush  of  money,  and  money  in  gold 
coins  that  correspond  with  many  pieces  that  have  been 
seen  by  different  individuals  in  the  possession  of  our 
aunt " 

"Ay,  eagles  and  half-eagles,"  interrupted  Timms — "a 
resemblance  that  comes  from  the  stamp  of  the  mint." 

"Go  on  with  your  proposition,  Mr.  Williams," — said 
Dunscomb. 

"We  offer  to  withdraw  all  our  extra  counsel,  myself  in- 
cluded, and  to  leave  the  case  altogether  with  the  State, 
which  is  very  much  the  same  thing  as  an  acquittal ;  provided 
you  will  return^  us  five  thousand  dollars  in  this  gold  coin. 
Not  pay,  for  that  might  be  compounding  a  felony  ;  but 
return" 

"There  could  be  no  compounding  a  felony,  if  the  indict- 
ment be  not  quashed,  but  traversed,"  said  the  senior  coun- 
sel for  the  defence. 

"Very  true;  but  we  prefer  the  word  'return.'  That 
leaves  everything  clear,  and  will  enable  us  to  face  the 
county.  Our  object  is  to  get  our  rights — let  the  State 
take  care  of  its  justice  for  itself." 

"You  can  hardly  expect  that  such  a  proposition  should 
be  accepted,  Williams?" 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  Timms;  life  is  sweeter  than 
money  even.  I  should  like  to  hear  the  answer  of  your  as- 
sociate, however.  You,  I  can  see,  have  no  intention  of 
lessening  the  marriage  portion,  if  it  can  be  helped." 

Such  side-hits  were  so  common  in  court,  as  between 
these  worthies,  that  neither  thought  much  of  them  out  of 
court.  But  Williams  gave  a  signal  proof  of  the  acuteness 
of  his  observation,  when  he  expressed  a  wish  to  know  in 
what  light  his  proposal  was  viewed  by  Dunscomb.  That 
learned  gentleman  evidently  paid  more  respect  to  the  offer 
than  had  been  manifested  by  his  associate  ;  and  now  sat 
silently  ruminating  on  its  nature.  Thus  directly  appealed 
to,  he  felt  the  necessity  of  giving  some  sort  of  an  answer. 

"You  have  come  expressly  to  make  this  proposition  to 
us,  Mr.  Williams  ? "  Dunscomb  demanded. 


234  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

"To  be  frank  with  you,  sir,  such  is  the  main  object  oi 
my  visit." 

"  Of  course  it  is  sanctioned  by  your  client,  and  you  speak 
by  authority?" 

"  It  is  fully  sanctioned  by  my  client,  who  would  greatly 
prefer  the  plan  ;  and  I  act  directly  by  his  written  instruc- 
tions. Nothing  short  of  these  would  induce  me  to  make 
the  proposition." 

"  Very  well,  sir.  Will  an  answer  by  ten  o'clock  this 
evening  meet  your  views  ? " 

"  Perfectly  so.  An  answer  at  any  time  between  this 
and  the  sitting  of  the  court  to-morrow  morning  will  fully 
meet  our  views.  The  terms,  however,  cannot  be  dimin- 
ished. Owing  to  the  shortness  of  the  time,  it  may  be  well 
to  understand  that." 

"Then,  Mr.  Williams,  I  ask  a  little  time  for  reflection 
and  consultation.  We  may  meet  again  to-night." 

The  other  assented,  rose,  coolly  helped  himself  to  an- 
other cigar,  and  had  got  as  far  as  the  door,  when  an  ex- 
pressive gesture  from  Timms  induced  hirn  to  pause. 

"Let  us  understand  each  other,"  said  the  last,  with 
emphasis.  "  Is  this  a  truce,  with  a  complete  cessation  of 
hostilities  ;  or  is  it  only  a  negotiation  to  be  carried  on  in 
the  midst  of  war?" 

"I  hardly  comprehend  your  meaning,  Mr.  Timms.  The 
question  is  simply  one  of  taking  certain  forces — allied 
forces,  they  may  be  called — from  the  field,  and  leaving 
you  to  contend  only  with  the  main  enemy.  There  need 
be  nothing  said  of  a  truce,  since  nothing  further  can  be 
done  until  the  court  opens." 

"  That  may  do  very  well,  Williams,  for  those  that  haven't 

Eractised  in  Dukes  as  long  as  myself ;  but  it  will  not  do 
)r  me.  There  is  an  army  of  reporters  here,  at  this  mo- 
ment ;  and  I  am  afraid  that  the  allies  of  whom  you  speak 
have  whole  corps  of  skirmishers." 

Williams  maintained  a  countenance  so  unmoved  that 
even  the  judicious  Timms  was  a  little  shaken  ;  while  Duns- 
comb,  who  had  all  the  reluctance  of  a  gentleman  to  be- 
lieve in  an  act  of  meanness,  felt  outraged  by  his  associate's 
suspicions. 

"  Come,  come,  Mr.  Timms,"  the  last  exclaimed,  "  I  beg 
we  may  have  no  more  of  this.  Mr.  Williams  has  come 
with  a  proposition  worthy  of  our  consideration  ;  let  us 
meet  it  in  the  spirit  in  which  it  is  offered." 

"Yes,"  repeated  Williams,  with  a  look  that  might  welJ 


77//i    WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  235 

have  explained  his  sobriquet  of  "saucy;"  "yes,  in  the 
spirit  in  which  it  is  offered.  What  do  you  say  to  that, 
Timms?" 

"That  I  shall  manage  the  defence  precisely  as  if  no  such 
proposition  had  been  made,  or  any  negotiation  accepted. 
You  can  do  the  same  for  the  prosecution." 

"Agreed!"  Williams  rejoined,  making  a  sweeping  gest- 
ure with  his  hand,  and  immediately  quitting  the  room. 

Dunscomb  was  silent  for  a  minute.  A  thread  of  smoke 
arose  from  the  end  of  his  cigar  ;  but  the  volume  no  longer 
poured  from  between  his  lips.  He  was  ruminating  too  in- 
tensely even  to  smoke.  Rising  suddenly,  he  took  his  hat, 
and  motioned  toward  the  door. 

"  Timms,  we  must  go  to  the  jail,"  he  said  ;  "  Mary  Mon- 
son  must  be  spoken  to  at  once." 

"  If  Williams  had  made  his  proposition  ten  days  ago, 
there  might  be  some  use  in  listening  to  it,"  returned  the 
junior,  following  the  senior  counsel  from  the  room,  carry- 
ing all  the  papers  in  the  cause  under  an  arm  ;  "but,  now 
that  all  the  mischief  is  done,  it  would  be  throwing  away 
five  thousand  dollars  to  listen  to  his  proposition." 

"  We  will  see — we  will  see,"  answered  the  other,  hurry- 
ing down-stairs — "  what  means  the  rumpus  in  that  room, 
Timms  ?  Mrs.  Horton  has  not  treated  me  well,  to  place  a 
troublesome  neighbor  so  near  me.  I  shall  stop  and  tell 
her  as  much,  as  we  go  through  the  hall." 

"You  had  better  not,  squire.  We  want  all  our  friends 
just  now  ;  and  a  sharp  word  might  cause  us  to  lose  this 
woman,  who  has  a  devil  of  a  tongue.  She  tells  me  that  a 
crazy  man  was  brought  here  privately  ;  and,  being  well 
paid'  for  it,  she  has  consented  to  give  him  what  she  calls 
her  '  drunkard's  parlor,'  until  the  court  has  settled  his  af- 
fairs. His  room,  like  your  own,  is  so  much  out  of  the  way, 
that  the  poor  fellow  gives  very  little  trouble  to  the  great 
body  of  the  boarders." 

"  Ay,  very  little  trouble  to  you,  and  the  rest  of  you,  in 
the  main  building  ;  but  a  great  deal  to  me.  I  shall  speak 
to  Mrs.  Horton  on  the  subject,  as  we  pass  out." 

"  Better  not,  squire.  The  woman  is  our  friend  now,  I 
know  ;  but  a  warm  word  may  turn  her  to  the  right-about." 

It  is  probable  Dunscomb  was  influenced  by  his  compan- 
ion ;  for  he  left  the  house  without  putting  his  threat  into 
execution.  In  a  few  minutes  he  and  Timms  were  at  the 
jail.  As  counsel  could  not  well  be  refused  admission  to 
their  client  on  the  eve  of  trial,  the  two  lawyers  were  ad- 


236  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

mitted  to  the  gallery  within  the  outer  door  that  has  been 
so  often  mentioned.  Of  course,  Mary  Monson  was  notified 
of  the  visit  ;  and  she  received  them  with  Anna  Updyke, 
the  good,  gentle,  considerate  Anna,  who  was  ever  disposed 
to  help  the  weak  and  to  console  the  unhappy,  at  her  side. 
Dunscomb  had  no  notion  that  the  intimacy  had  grown  to 
this  head  ;  but  when  he  came  to  reflect  that  one  of  the 
parties  was  to  be  tried  for  her  life  next  day,  he  was  dis- 
posed to  overlook  the  manifest  indiscretion  of  his  old 
favorite  in  being  in  such  a  place.  Mrs.  McBrain's  presence 
released  him  from  all  responsibility  ;  and  he  returned  the 
warm  pressure  of  Anna's  hand  in  kindness,  if  not  with  pos- 
itive approbation.  As  for  the  girl  herself,  the  very  sight 
of  "  Uncle  Tom,"  as  she  had  so  long  been  accustomed  to 
call  the  counsellor,  cheered  her  heart,  and  raised  new  hopes 
in  behalf  of  her  friend. 

In  a  few  clear,  pointed  words,  Dunscomb  let  the  motive 
of  his  visit  be  known.  There  was  little  time  to  throw  away, 
and  he  went  directly  at  his  object,  stating  everything  suc- 
cinctly, but  in  the  most  intelligible  manner.  Nothing  could 
have  been  more  cairn  than  the  manner  in  W7hich  Mary 
Monson  listened  to  his  statement ;  her  deportment  being 
as  steady  as  that  of  one  sitting  in  judgment  herself,  rather 
than  that  of  a  person  whose  own  fate  was  involved  in  the 
issue. 

"  It  is  a  large  sum  to  raise  in  so  short  a  time,"  continued 
the  kind-hearted  Dunscomb  ;  "  but  I  deem  the  proposition 
so  important  to  your  interest,  that,  rather  than  lose  this 
advantage,  I  would  not  hesitate  about  advancing  the  money 
myself,  should  you  be  unprepared  for  so  heavy  a  demand. " 

"As  respects  the  money,  Mr.  Dunscomb,"  returned  the 
fair  prisoner,  in  the  most  easy  and  natural  manner,  "that 
need  give  us  no  concern.  By  sending  a  confidential  mes- 
senger to  town — Mr.  John  Wilmeter,  for  instance" — here 
Anna  pressed  less  closely  to  her  friend's  side — "it  would 
be  very  easy  to  have  five  hundred  eagles  or  a  thousand 
half-eagles  here,  by  breakfast-time  to-morrow.  It  is  not 
on  account  of  any  such  difficulty  that  I  hesitate  a  moment. 
What  I  dislike  is  the  injustice  of  the  thing.  I  have  never 
touched  a  cent  of  poor  Mrs.  Goodwin's  hoard  ;  and  it  would 
be  false  to  admit  that  I  am  returning  that  which  I  never 
received." 

"  We  must  not  be  particular,  ma'am,  on  immaterial 
points,  when  there  is  so  much  at  stake." 

"  It  may  be  immaterial  whether  I  pay  money  under  one 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  237 

form  or  another,  Mr.  Dunscomb  ;  but  it  cannot  be  immate- 
rial to  my  future  standing,  whether!  am  acquitted  in  the 
teeth  of  this  Mr.  Williams's  opposition,  or  under  favor  of 
his  purchase." 

"  Acquitted  !  Our  case  is  not  absolutely  clear,  Miss 
Monson — it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you  as  much  ! " 

"  I  understand  such  to  be  the  opinion  of  both  Mr.  Timms 
and  yourself,  sir ;  I  like  the  candor  of  your  conduct,  but 
am  not  converted  to  your  way  of  thinking.  I  shall  be 
acquitted,  gentlemen — yes,  honorably,  triumphant!/  ac- 
quitted ;  and  I  cannot  consent  to  lessen  the  impression  of 
such  a  termination  to  my  affair,  by  putting  myself  in  the 
way  of  being  even  suspected  of  a  collusion  with  a  man  like 
this  saucy  Williams.  It  is  far  better  to  meet  him  openly, 
and  to  defy  him  to  do  his  worst.  Perhaps  some  such  trial, 
followed  by  complete  success,  will  be  necessary  to  my 
future  happiness." 

Anna  now  pressed  nearer  to  the  side  of  her  friend  ;  pass- 
ing an  arm,  unconsciously  to  herself,  around  her  waist. 
As  for  Dunscomb,  he  gazed  at  the  handsome  prisoner  in  a 
sort  of  stupefied  wonder.  The  place,  the  hour,  the  busi- 
ness of  the  succeeding  day,  and  all  the  accessories  of  the 
scene,  had  an  effect  to  increase  the  confusion  of  his  mind, 
and,  for  the  moment,  to  call  in  question  the  fidelity  of  his 
senses.  As  he  gazed  at  the  prison-like  aspect  of  the  gal- 
lery, his  eye  fell  on  the  countenance  of  Marie  Moulin,  and 
resteci  there  in  surprise  for  half  a  minute.  The  Swiss  maid 
was  looking  earnestly  at  her  mistress,  with  an  expression 
of  concern  and  of  care  so  intense,  that  it  caused  the  coun- 
sellor to  search  for  their  cause.  For  the  first  time  it  flashed 
on  his  mind  that  Mary  Monson  might  be  a  lunatic,  and 
that  the  defence  so  often  set  up  in  capital  cases  as  to  weary 
the  common  mind,  might  be  rendered  justly  available  in 
this  particular  instance.  The  whole  conduct  of  this  serv- 
ing-woman had  been  so  singular  ;  the  deportment  of  Mary 
Monson  herself  was  so  much  out  of  the  ordinary  rules  ; 
and  the  adhesion  of  Anna  Updyke,  a  girl  of  singular  pru- 
dence of  conduct,  notwithstanding  her  disposition  to 
enthusiasm,  so  marked,  that  the  inference  was  far  from  un- 
natural. Nevertheless,  Mary  Monson  had  never  looked 
more  calm,  more  intellectual ;  never  manifested  more  of  a 
mien  of  high  intelligence,  than  at  that  very  instant  The 
singular  illumination  of  the  countenance  to  which  we  have 
had  occasion  already  to  allude,  was  conspicuous,  but  it  was 
benignant  and  quiet ;  and  the  flush  of  the  cheeks  added 


238  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

lustre  to  her  eyes.  Then  the  sentiments  expressed  were 
just  and  noble,  free  from  the  cunning  and  mendacity  of  a 
maniac  ;  and  such  as  any  man  might  be  proud  to  have  the 
wife  of  his  bosom  entertain.  All  these  considerations 
quickly  chased  the  rising  distrust  from  Dunscomb's  mind, 
and  his  thoughts  reverted  to  the  business  that  had  brought 
him  there. 

"  You  are  the  best  judge,  ma'am,  of  what  will  most  con- 
tribute to  your  happiness,"  rejoined  the  counsellor,  after  a 
brief  pause.  "In  the  ignorance  in  which  we  are  kept  of 
the  past,  I  might  well  add,  the  only  judge  ;  though  it  is 
possible  that  your  female  companions  know  more,  in  this 
respect,  than  your  legal  advisers.  It  is  proper  I  should 
say,  once  more,  and  probably  for  the  last  time,  that  your 
case  will  be  greatly"  prejudiced  unless  you  enable  us  to 
dwell  on  your  past  life  freely  and  truly." 

"  I  am  accused  of  murdering  an  unoffending  female  and 
her  husband  ;  of  setting  fire  to  the  dwelling,  and  of  rob- 
bing them  of  their  gold.  These  are  accusations  that  can 
properly  be  answered  only  by  a  complete  acquittal,  after 
a  solemn  investigation.  No  half-way  measures  will  do. 
I  must  be  found  not  guilty,  or  a  blot  rests  on  my  character 
for  life.  My  position  is  singular — I  had  almost  said 
cruel — in  some  respects  owing  to  my  own  wilfulness — 

Here  Anna  Updyke  pressed  closer  to  her  friend's  side, 
as  if  she  would  defend  her  against  these  self-accusations  ; 
while  Marie  Moulin  dropped  her  needle,  and  listened  with 
the  liveliest  curiosity. 

"  In  many  respects,  perhaps,"  continued  Mary,  after  a 
short  pause,  "and  I  must  take  the  consequences.  Wilful- 
ness  has  ever  been  my  greatest  enemy.  It  has  been  fed 
by  perfect  independence  and  too  much  money.  I  doubt 
if  it  be  good  for  woman  to  be  thus  tried.  We  were  created 
for  dependence,  Mr.  Dunscomb ;  dependence  on  our 
fathers,  on  our  brothers,  and  perhaps  on  our  husbands — 
here  there  was  another  pause  ;  and  the  cheeks  of  the  fair 
speaker  flushed,  while  her  eyes  became  brilliant  to  light. 

"Perhaps!"  repeated  the  counsellor,  with  solemn 
emphasis. 

"  I  know  that  men  think  differently  from  us  on  this 
subject — 

"  From  us — do  you  desire  me  to  believe  that  most  women 
wish  to  be  independent  of  their  husbands  !  Ask  the  young 
woman  at  your  side,  if  that  be  her  feeling  of  the  duties  of 
her  sex." 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  239 

Anna  dropped  her  head  on  her  bosom,  and  blushed 
scarlet.  In  all  her  day-dreams  of  happiness  with  John 
Wilmeter,  the  very  reverse  of  the  feeling  now  alluded  to, 
had  been  uppermost  in  her  mind ;  and  to  her  nothing  had 
ever  seemed  half  as  sweet  as  the  picture  of  leaning  on  him 
for  support,  guidance,  authority,  and  advice.  The  thought 
of  independence  would  have  been  painful  to  her  ;  for  a 
principle  of  nature,  the  instinct  of  her  sex,  taught  her  that 
the  part  of  woman  was  "to  love,  honor,  and  obey."  As 
for  Mary  Monson,  she  quailed  a  little  before  the  severe 
eye  of  Dunscomb  ;  but  education,  the  accidents  of  life,  and 
possibly  a  secret  principle  of  her  peculiar  temperament, 
united  to  stimulate  her  to  maintain  her  original  ground. 

"  I  know  not  what  may  be  the  particular  notions  of  Miss 
Updyke,"  returned  this  singular  being,  "but  I  can  feel 
my  own  longings.  They  are  all  for  independence.  Men 
have  not  dealt  fairly  by  women.  Possessing  the  power, 
they  have  made  all  the  laws,  fashioned  all  the  opinions  of 
the  world,  in  their  own  favor.  Let  a  woman  err,  and  she 
can  never  rise  from  her  fall  ;  while  men  live  with  im- 
punity in  the  midst  of  their  guilt.  If  a  woman  think 
differently  from  those  around  her,  she  is  expected  to  con 
ceal  her  opinions,  in  order  to  receive  those  of  her  masters. 
Even  in  the  worship  of  God,  the  highest  and  most  pre- 
cious of  all  our  duties,  she  is  expected  to  play  a  secondary 
part,  and  act  as  if  the  Christian  faith  favored  the  sentiment 
of  another,  which  teaches  that  women  have  no  souls." 

"  All  this  is  as  old  as  the  repinings  of  a  very  treacherous 
nature,  young  lady,"  answered  Dunscomb,  coolly;  "and  I 
have  often  heard  it  before.  It  is  not  surprising,  however, 
that  a  young,  handsome,  highly-educated,  and  I  presume 
rich,  person  of  your  sex,  should  be  seduced  by  notions 
seemingly  so  attractive,  and  long  for  what  she  will  be  apt 
to  term  the  emancipation  of  her  sex.  This  is  an  age  of 
emancipation  ;  prudent  gray-headed  men  become  deluded, 
and  exhibit  their  folly  by  succumbing  to  a  wild  and  ex- 
ceedingly silly  philanthropical  hurrah  !  Even  religion  is 
emancipated  !  There  are  churches,  it  is  true  ;  but  they 
exist  as  appendages  of  society,  instead  of  being  divine  in- 
stitutions, established  for  the  secret  purposes  of  unerring 
wisdom  ;  and  we  hear  men  openly  commending  this  or 
that  ecclesiastical  organization,  because  it  has  more  or  less 
of  the  savor  of  republicanism.  But  one  new  dogma  re- 
mains to  be  advanced — that  the  government  of  the  uni- 
verse is  democratical — in  which  the  'music  of  the  spheres' 


«40  THE  WAYS'  OF  THE  HOUR. 

is  a  popular  song  ;  and  the  disappearance  of  a  world  a 
matter  to  be  referred  to  the  people  in  their  primary 
capacity.  Among  other  absurdities  of  the  hour  is  a  new 
law,  giving  to  married  women  the  control  of  their  property, 
and  drawing  a  line  of  covetousness  across  the  bolster  of 
every  marriage  bed  in  the  State  !  " 

"  Surely,  Mr.  Dunscomb,  a  man  of  your  integrity,  char- 
acter, manliness  and  principles,  would  defend  the  weaker 
sex  in  the  maintenance  of  its  rights  against  prodigality, 
tyranny,  and  neglect  ?  " 

"  These  are  so  many  words,  my  dear  ma'am,  and  are 
totally  without  meaning,  when  thoroughly  sifted.  God 
created  woman  to  be  a  helpmeet  to  man — to  comfort, 
solace,  and  aid  him  in  his  pursuit  after  wordly  happiness  ; 
but  always  in  a  dependent  relation.  The  marriage  con- 
dition, viewed  in  its  every-day  aspect,  has  sufficient  causes 
of  disagreement,  without  drawing  in  this  of  property.  One 
of  the  dearest  and  nearest  of  its  ties,  indeed,  that  of  a  per- 
fect identification  of  interests,  is  at  once  cut  off  by  this 
foolish,  not  to  say  wicked,  attempt  to  light  the  torch  of 
contention  in  every  household.  It  were  better  to  teach 
our  women  not  to  throw  themselves  away  on  men  who  can 
not  be  trusted  ;  to  inculcate  the  necessity  of  not  marrying 
in  haste  to  repent  at  leisure,  than  to  tinker  the  old,  vener- 
able and  long-tried  usages  of  our  fathers,  by  crochets  that 
come  far  more  from  the  feverish  audacity  of  ignorance, 
than  from  philosophy  or  wisdom.  Why,  unless  the  courts 
interpose  their  prudence  to  rectify  the  blunders  of  the 
legislature,  as  they  have  already  done  a  hundred  times, 
the  laborer's  wife  may  have  her  action  against  her  husband 
for  the  earthen  bowl  he  has  broken  ;  and  the  man  may  be 
sued  by  the  wife  for  rent !  The  happiness  of  every  home 
is  hourly  put  in  jeopardy,  in  order  that,  now  and  then,  a 
wife  may  be  saved  from  the  courses  of  a  speculator  or  a 
spendthrift." 

"  Might  not  this  have  been  done  before,  Uncle  Tom,  by 
means  of  settlements?"  asked  Anna,  with  interest. 

"  Certainly  ;  and  that  it  is  which  renders  all  this  silly 
quackery  so  much  the  worse.  In  those  cases  in  which  the 
magnitude  of  the  stake  might  seem  to  demand  extraor- 
dinary care,  the  means  already  existed  for  providing  all 
useful  safeguards  ;  and  any  new  legislation  was  quite  un- 
necessary. This  very  law  will  produce  twenty-fold  more 
unhappiness  in  families,  than  it  will  prevent  of  misery,  by 
setting  up  distinct,  and  often  conflicting  interests,  among 


THE   WA  YS    OF   THE   HOUR.  241 

chose  who  ought  to  live  as  '  bone  of  their  bone,  and  flesh 
of  their  flesh.'  " 

"  You  do  not  give  to  woman  her  proper  place  in  society, 
Mr.  Dunscomb,"  returned  Mary  Monson,  haughtily; 
"  your  comments  are  those  of  a  bachelor.  I  have  heard  of 
a  certain  Miss  Millington,  who  once  had  an  interest  with 
you,  and  who,  if  living,  would  have  taught  you  juster  sen- 
timents on  this  subject." 

Dunscomb  turned  as  white  as  a  sheet  ;  his  hand  and  lip 
quivered  ;  and  all  desire  to  continue  the  discourse  sud- 
denly left  him.  The  gentle  Anna,  ever  attentive  to  his 
wishes  and  ailings,  stole  to  his  side,  silently  offering  a 
glass  of  water.  She  had  seen  this  agitation  before,  and 
knew  there  was  a  leaf  in  "  Uncle  Tom's"  history  that  he 
did  not  wish  every  vulgar  eye  to  read. 

As  for  Mary  Monson,  she  went  into  her  cell,  like  one 
who  declined  any  further  communication  with  her  counsel. 
Timms  was  struck  with  her  lofty  and  decided  manner  ; 
but  stood  too  much  in  awe  of  her,  to  interpose  a  remon- 
strance. After  a  few  minutes  taken  by  Dunscomb  to  re- 
gain his  self-command,  and  a  brief  consultation  together, 
the  two  lawyers  quitted  the  prison.  All  this  time,  the  ac- 
cused remained  in  her  cell,  in  resentful  silence,  closely  and 
anxiously  watched  by  the  searching  eye  of  her  senior  at- 
tendant. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Methinks,  if,  as  I  guess,  the  fault's  but  small, 
It  might  be  pardoned. — The  Orphan. 

PERHAPS  no  surer  test  of  high  principles,  as  it  is  certain 
no  more  accurate  test  of  high  breeding  can  be  found,  than 
a  distaste  for  injurious  gossip.  In  woman,  subject  as  she 
is  unquestionably  by  her  education,  habits,  and  active  cu- 
riosity, to  the  influence  of  this  vice,  its  existence  is  deplor- 
able, leading  to  a  thousand  wrongs,  among  the  chief  of 
which  is  a  false  appreciation  of  ourselves  ;  but,  when  men 
submit  to  so  vile  a  propensity,  they  become  contemptible, 
as  well  as  wicked.  As  a  result  of  long  observation,  we 
should  say  that  those  who  are  most  obnoxious  to  the  just 
condemnation  of  the  world,  are  the  most  addicted  to  find- 
ing faults  in  others  ;  and  it  is  only  the  comparatively  good, 
who  are  so  because  they  are  humble,  that  abstain  from 
meddling  and  dealing  in  scandal. 
16 


242  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

When  one  reflects  on  the  great  amount  of  injustice  that 
is  thus  inflicted,  without  even  the  most  remote  hope  of 
reparation,  how  far  a  loose,  ill-considered  and  ignorant  re- 
mark will  float  on  the  tongues  of  the  idle,  how  much 
unmerited  misery  is  oftentimes  entailed  by  such  unweighed 
assertions  and  opinions,  and  how  small  is  the  return  of 
benefit  in  any  form  whatever,  it  would  almost  appear  a 
necessary  moral  consequence  that  the  world,  by  general 
consent,,  would  determine  to  eradicate  so  pernicious  an 
evil,  in  the  common  interest  of  mankind.  That  it  does 
not,  is  probably  owing  to  the  power  that  is  still  left  in  the 
hands  of  the  Father  of  Sin,  by  the  Infinite  Wisdom  that 
has  seen  fit  to  place  us  in  this  condition  of  trial.  The 
parent  of  all  lies,  gossip,  is  one  of  the  most  familiar  of  the 
means  he  employs  to  put  his  falsehoods  in  circulation. 

This  vice  is  heartless  and  dangerous  when  confined  to 
its  natural  limits,  the  circles  of  society  ;.  but,  when  it  in- 
vades the  outer  walks  of  life,  and,  most  of  all,  when  it  gets 
mixed  up  with  the  administration  of  justice,  it  becomes  a 
tyrant  as  ruthless  and  injurious  in  its  way,  as  he  who  fid- 
dled while  Rome  was  in  flames.  We  have  no  desire  to  ex- 
aggerate the  evils  of  the  state  of  society  in  which  we  live  ; 
but  an  honest  regard  to  truth  will,  we  think,  induce  every 
observant  man  to  lament  the  manner  in  which  this  power, 
under  the  guise  of  popular  opinion,  penetrates  into  all  the 
avenues  of  the  courts,  corrupting,  perverting,  and  often 
destroying  the  healthful  action  of  their  systems. 

Biberry  furnished  a  clear  example  of  the  truth  of  these 
remarks  on  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  Mary  Mon- 
son  was  to  be  tried. 

The  jail-window  had  its  crowd,  of  course  ;  and  though 
the  disposition  of  curtains,  and  other  similar  means  of  con- 
cealment completely  baffled  vulgar  curiosity,  they  could 
not  cloak  the  resentful  feelings  to  which  this  reserve  gave 
birth.  Most  of  those  who  were  drawn  thither  belonged  to 
a  class  who  fancied  it  was  not  affliction  enough  to  be  ac- 
cused of  two  of  the  highest  crimes  known  to  the  laws  ;  but 
that  to  this  grievous  misfortune  should  be  added  a  sub- 
mission to  the  stare  of  the  multitude.  It  was  the  people's 
laws  the  accused  was  supposed  to  have  disregarded  ;  and 
it  was  their  privilege  to  anticipate  punishment,  by  insult. 

"  Why  don't  she  show  herself,  and  let  the  public  look  on 
her?"  demanded  one  curious  old  man,  whose  head  had 
whitened  under  a  steadily  increasing  misconception  of 
what  the  rights  of  this  public  were.  "I've  seen  murderers 


THE   IV A  r.S'    OF   THE   HOUR.  243 

afore  now,  and  ain't  a  bit  afeard  on  'em,  if  they  be  well 
ironed  and  look'd  a'ter." 

This  sally  produced  a  heartless  laugh  ;  for,  sooth  to  say, 
where  one  feels,  under  such  circumstances,  as  reason,  and 
justice,  and  revelation  would  tell  them  to  feel,  ten  feel  as 
the  demons  prompt. 

"You  cannot  expect  that  a  lady  of  fashion,  who  plays 
on  the  harp  and  talks  French,  will  show  her  pretty  face  to 
be  gazed  at  by  common  folk,"  rejoined  a  shabby  genteel 
sort  of  personage,  out  of  whose  waistcoat-pocket  obtruded 
the  leaves  of  a  small  note-book,  and  the  end  of  a  gold  pen. 
This  man  was  a  reporter,  rendered  malignant  by  meeting 
with  opposition  to  his  views  of  imagining  that  the  universe 
was  created  to  furnish  paragraphs  for  newspapers.  He 
was  a  half-educated  European,  who  pronounced  all  his 
words  in  a  sort  of  boarding-school  dialect,  as  if  abbrevia- 
tion offended  a  taste  "  sickened  by  over  learning." 

Another  laugh  succeeded  this  supercilious  sneer  ;  and 
three  or  four  lads,  half-grown  and  clamorous,  called  aloud 
the  name  of  "  Mary  Monson,"  demanding  that  she  should 
show  herself.  At  that  moment  the  accused  was  on  her 
knees,  with  Anna  Updyke  at  her  side,  praying  for  that 
support  which,  as  the  crisis  arrived,  she  found  to  be  more 
and  more  necessary. 

Changing  from  this  scene  to  the  open  street,  we  find 
a  pettifogger,  one  secretly  prompted  by  Williams,  spread- 
ing a  report  that  had  its  origin  no  one  knew  where,  but 
which  was  gradually  finding  its  way  to  the  ears  of  half 
the  population  of  Dukes,  exciting  prejudice  and  inflicting 
wrong. 

"  It's  the  curi'stest  story  I  ever  heard,"  said  Sam  Tongue, 
as  the  pettifogger  was  usually  styled,  though  his  real  name 
was  Hubbs  ;  "  and  one  so  hard  to  believe,  that,  though  I  tell 
it,  I  call  on  no  man  to  believe  it.  You  see,  gentlemen  " — 
the  little  group  around  him  was  composed  of  suitors,  wit- 
nesses, jurors,  grand-jurors,  and  others  of  a  stamp  that 
usually  mark  these  several  classes  of  men — "  that  the  ac- 
count now  is,  that  this  Mary  Monson  was  sent  abroad  for 
her  schoolin'  when  only  ten  years  old  ;  and  that  she  stayed 
in  the  old  countries  long  enough  to  1'arn  to  play  the  harp, 
and  other  deviltries  of  the  same  natur'.  It's  a  misfortin', 
as  I  say,  for  any  young  woman  to  be  sent  out  of  Ameriky 
for  an  edication.  Edication,  as  everybody  knows,  is  the 
great  glory  of  our  country  ;  and  a  body  would  think  that 
what  can't  be  1'arnt  here,  isn't  worth  knowin'." 


244  THE   W AYS    OF   THE   HOl'R. 

This  sentiment  was  well  received,  as  would  be  anj 
opinion  that  asserted  American  superiority,  with  that  par- 
ticular class  of  listeners.  Eye  turned  to  eye,  nod  answered 
nod,  and  a  murmur  expressive  of  approbation  passed 
through  the  little  crowd. 

"  But  there  was  no  great  harm  in  that,"  put  in  a  person 
named  Hicks,  who  was  accustomed  to  connect  conse 
quences  with  their  causes,  and  to  trace  causes  down  to 
their  consequences.  "Anybody  might  have  been  edicated 
in  France  as  well  as  Mary  Monson.  That  will  hardly  tell 
ag'in  her  on  the  trial." 

"  I  didn't  say  it  would,"  answered  Sam  Tongue  ;  "  though 
it's  gin'rally  conceded  that  France  is  no  country  for  relig- 
ion or  true  freedom.  Give  me  religion  and  freedom,  say 
I  ;  a  body  can  get  along  with  bad  crops,  or  disappointments 
in  gin'ral,  so  long  as  he  has  plenty  of  religion  and  plenty 
of  freedom." 

Another  murmur,  another  movement  in  the  group,  and 
other  nods  denoted  the  spirit  in  which  this  was  received,  too. 

"  All  this  don't  make  ag'in  Mary  Monson  ;  'specially  as 
you  say  she  was  sent  abroad  so  young.  It  wasn't  her 
fault  if  her  parents " 

"  She  had  no  parents — there's  the  great  mystery  of  her 
case.  Never  had,  so  far  as  can  be  discovered.  A  gal 
without  parents,  without  fri'nds  of  any  sort,  is  edicated  in 
a  foreign  land,  Tarns  to  speak  foreign  tongues,  plays  on 
foreign  music,  and  comes  home  a'ter  she's  grown  up,  with 
her  pockets  as  full  as  if  she'd  been  to  Californy  and  met  a 
vein  ;  and  no  one  can  tell  where  it  all  come  from  ! " 

"  Well,  that  won't  tell  ag'in  her,  ne'ther,"  rejoined  Hicks, 
who  had  now  defended  the  accused  so  much  that  he  began 
to  take  an  interest  in  her  acquittal.  "  Evidence  must  be 
direct,  and  have  a  p'int,  to  tell  ag'in  man  or  woman.  As 
for  Californy,  it's  made  lawful  by  treaty,  if  Congress  will 
only  let  it  alone." 

"  I  know  that  as  well  as  the  best  lawyer  in  Dukes  ;  but 
character  can  tell  ag'in  an  accused,  as  is  very  likely  to  be 
shown  in  the  Oyer  and  Terminer  of  this  day.  Character 
counts,  let  me  tell  you,  when  the  facts  get  a  little  confused  ; 
and  this  is  just  what  I  was  about  to  say.  Mary  Monson 
has  money  ;  where  does  it  come  from  ? " 

"Those  that  think  her  guilty  say  that  it  comes  from 
poor  Mrs.  Goodwin's  stockin',"  returned  Hicks,  with  a 
laugh  ;  "  but,  for  my  part,  I've  seen  that  stockin',  and  am 
satisfied  it  didn't  hold  five  hundred  dollars,  if  it  did  four." 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  245 

Here  the  reporter  out  with  his  notes,  scribbling  away  for 
some  time.  That  evening  a  paragraph,  a  little  altered  to 
give  it  point  and  interest,  appeared  in  an  evening  paper, 
in  which  the  conflicting  statements  of  Tongue  and  Hicks 
were  so  presented  that  neither  of  these  worthies  could 
have  recognized  his  own  child.  That  paper  was  in  Biberry 
next  morning,  and  had  no  inconsiderable  influence,  ulti- 
mately, on  the  fortunes  of  the  accused. 

In  the  bar-room  of  Mrs.  Horton,  the  discussion  was  also 
lively  and  wily  on  this  same  subject.  As  this  was  a  place 
much  frequented  by  the  jurors,  the  agents  of  Timms  and 
Williams  were  very  numerous  in  and  around  that  house. 
The  reader  is  not  to  suppose  that  these  men  admitted  di- 
rectly to  themselves  even,  the  true  character  of  the  rascally 
business  in  which  they  were  engaged  ;  for  their  employers 
were  much  too  shrewd  not  to  cover,  to  a  certain  degree, 
the  deformity  of  their  own  acts.  One  set  had  been  told 
that  they  were  favoring  justice,  bringing  down  aristocratic 
pride  to  the  level  of  the  rights  of  the  mass,  demonstrating 
that  this  was  a  free  country,  by  one  of  the  very  vilest 
procedures  that  ever  polluted  the  fountains  of  justice  at 
their  very  source.  On  the  other  hand,  the  agents  of 
Timms  had  been  persuaded  that  they  were  working  in  be- 
half of  a  persecuted  and  injured  woman,  who  was  pressed 
upon  by  the  well-known  avarice  of  the  nephew  of  the 
Goodwins,  and  who  was  in  danger  of  becoming  the  victim 
of  a  chain  of  extraordinary  occurrences  that  had  thrown 
her  into  the  meshes  of  the  law.  It  is  true,  this  reasoning 
was  backed  by  liberal  gifts  ;  which,  however,  were  made 
to  assume  the  aspect  of  compensation  fairly  earned,  for 
the  biggest  villain  going  derives  a  certain  degree  of  satis- 
faction in  persuading  himself  that  he  is  acting  under  the 
influence  of  motives  to  which  he  is,  in  truth,  a  stranger. 
The  homage  which  vice  pays  to  virtue  is  on  a  much  more 
extended  scale  than  is  commonly  supposed. 

Williams's  men  had  much  the  best  of  it  with  the  mass. 
They  addressed  themselves  to  prejudices  as  wide  as  the 
dominion  of  man  ;  and  a  certain  personal  zeal  was  mingled 
with  their  cupidity.  Then  they  had,  by  far,  the  easiest 
task.  He  who  merely  aids  the  evil  principles  of  our  nat- 
ure, provided  he  conceal  the  cloven  foot,  is  much  more 
sure  of  finding  willing  listeners  than  he  who  looks  for 
support  in  the  good.  A  very  unusual  sort  of  story  was 
circulated  in  this  bar-room  at  the  expense  of  the  accused, 
and  which  carried  with  it  more  credit  than  common,  in 


246  THE   WAYS    OF    TITR   HOTR. 

conseque  ice  of  its  being  so  much  out  of  the  beaten  track 
of  events  as  to  seem  to  set  invention  at  defiance. 

Mary  Monson  was  said  to  be  an  heiress,  well  con- 
nected, and  well  educated — or,  as  these  three  very 
material  circumstances  were  stated  by  the  Williams 
men — "  well  to  do  herself,  of  friends  well  to  do,  and  oi 
excellent  schooling."  She  had  been  married  to  a  per- 
son of  equal  position  in  society,  wealth,  and  character, 
but  many  years  her  senior — too  many,  the  story  went, 
considering  her  own  time  of  life  ;  for  a  great  difference, 
when  one  of  the  parties  is  youthful,  is  apt  to  tax  the  tastes 
too  severely — and  that  connection  had  not  proved  happy. 
It  had  been  formed  abroad,  and  more  on  foreign  than  on 
American  principles  ;  the  bridegroom  being  a  Frenchman. 
It  was  what  is  called  a  mariage  de  raison,  made  through 
the  agency  of  friends  and  executors,  rather  than  through 
the  sympathies  and  feelings  that  should  alone  bring  man 
and  woman  together  in  this,  the  closest  union  known  to 
human  beings.  After  a  year  of  married  life  abroad,  the 
unmatched  couple  had  come  to  America,  where  the  wife 
possessed  a  very  ample  fortune.  This  estate  the  recently 
enacted  laws  gave  solely  and  absolutely  to  herself  ;  and  it 
soon  became  a  source  of  dissension  between  man  and  wife. 
The  husband,  quite  naturally,  considered  himself  entitled 
to  advise  and  direct,  and,  in  some  measure,  to  control, 
while  the  affluent,  youthful,  and  pretty  wife  was  indisposed 
to  yield  any  of  the  independence  she  so  much  prized,  but 
which,  in  sooth,  was  asserted  in  the  very  teeth  of  one  of 
the  most  salutary  laws  of  nature.  In  consequence  of  this 
very  different  manner  of  viewing  the  marriage  relation,  a 
coolness  ensued,  which  was  shortly  followed  by  the  disap- 
pearance of  the  wife.  This  wife  was  Mary  Monson,  who 
had  secreted  herself  in  the  retired  dwelling  of  the  Good- 
wins, while  the  hired  agents  of  her  husband  were  running 
up  and  down  the  land  in  search  of  the  fugitive  in  places 
of  resort.  To  this  account,  so  strange,  and  yet  in  many 
respects  so  natural,  it  was  added  that  a  vein  of  occult  mad- 
ness existed  in  the  lady's  family ;  and  it  was  suggested 
that,  as  so  much  of  her  conduct  as  was  out  of  the  ordinary 
course  might  be  traced  to  this  malady,  so  was  it  also  pos- 
sible that  the  terrible  incidents  of  the  fire  and  the  deaths 
were  to  be  imputed  to  the  same  deep  affliction. 

We  are  far  from  saying  that  any  rumor  expressed  in  the 
terms  we  have  used,  was  circulating  in  Mrs.  Horton's  bar- 
room ;  but  one  that  contained  all  their  essentials  was.  If 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  247 

is  one  of  the  curious  effects  of  the  upward  tendency  of 
truth  that  almost  every  effort  to  conceal  it  altogether  fails  ; 
and  this  at  the  very  time  when  idle  and  heartless  gossip  is 
filling  the  world  with  lies.  The  tongue  does  a  thousand 
times  more  evil  than  the  sword  ;  destroys  more  happiness, 
inflicts  more  incurable  wounds,  leaves  deeper  and  more 
indelible  scars.  Truth  is  rarely  met  with  unalloyed  by 
falsehood. 

"  This  or  that  unmix' d,  no  mortal  e'er  shall  find  " — 

was  the  judgment  of  Pope  a  century  since  ;  nor  has  all  the 
boasted  progress  of  these  later  times  induced  a  change. 
It  is  remarkable  that  a  country  which  seems  honestly  de- 
voted to  improvement  of  every  sort,  that  has  a  feverish 
desire  to  take  the  lead  in  the  warfare  against  all  sorts  and 
species  of  falsehood,  gives  not  the  slightest  heed  to  the 
necessity  of  keeping  the  channels  of  intelligence  pure,  as 
well  as  open  !  Such  is  the  fact  ;  and  it  is  a  melancholy  but 
a  just  admission  to  acknowledge  that  with  all  the  means  of 
publicity  preserved  by  America,  there  is  no  country  in 
which  it  is  more  difficult  to  get  unadulterated  truth  im- 
pressed on  the  common  mind.  The  same  wire  that  trans- 
mits a  true  account  of  the  price  of  cotton  from  Halifax  to 
New  Orleans,  carries  a  spark  that  imparts  one  that  is 
false.  The  two  arrive  together ;  and  it  is  not  until  each 
has  done  its  work  that  the  real  fact  is  ascertained. 

Notwithstanding  these  undoubted  obstacles  to  the  cir- 
culation of  unalloyed  truth,  that  upward  tendency  to 
which  we  have  alluded  occasionally  brings  out  clear  and 
strong  rays  of  the  divine  quality,  that  illumine  the  moral 
darkness  on  which  they  shine,  as  the  sun  touches  the 
verge  of  the  thunder-cloud.  It  is  in  this  way  that  an  oc- 
casional report  is  heard,  coming  from  no  one  knows  where  ; 
originating  with  no  one  knows  whom  ;  circulating  in  a  sort 
of  under-current  beneath  the  torrents  of  falsehood,  that  is 
singularly,  if  it  be  not  absolutely  correct. 

Of  this  character  was  the  strange  rumor  that  found  its 
way  into  Biberry  on  the  morning  of  Mary  Monson's  trial, 
touching  the  history  of  that  mysterious  young  woman's 
past  life.  Wilmeter  heard  it  first,  with  a  pang  of  disap- 
pointment, though  Anna  had  nearly  regained  her  power 
in  his  heart  ;  and  this  pang  was  immediately  succeeded  by 
unbounded  surprise.  He  told  the  tale  to  Millington  ;  and 
together  they  endeavored  to  trace  the  report  to  something 


248  TV/A1   ll'AYS    OF    THE   HOUR. 

like  its  source.  All  efforts  of  this  nature  were  in  vain 
One  had  heard  the  story  from  another  ;  but  no  one  could 
say  whence  it  came  originally.  The  young  men  gave  the 
pursuit  up  as  useless,  and  proceeded  together  toward  the 
room  of  Timms,  where  they  knew  Dunscomb  was  to  be 
found,  just  at  that  time. 

"  It  is  remarkable  that  a  story  of  this  nature  should  be 
in  such  general  circulation,"  said  John,  "  and  no  one  be 
able  to  tell  who  brought  it  to  Biberry.  Parts  of  it  seem 
extravagant.  Do  they  not  strike  you  so,  sir  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  too  extravagant  for  some  women  to 
do,"  answered  Millington,  thoughtfully.  "Now,  on  such 
a  person  as  Sarah,  or  even  on  Anna  Updyke,  some  calcu- 
lations might  be  made — certain  calculations,  I  might  say  ; 
but  they  are  women,  Jack,  on  whom  one  can  no  more  de- 
pend, than  on  the  constancy  of  the  winds." 

"  I  admire  your — '  even  on  Anna  Updyke  !  " 

"  Do  you  not  agree  with  me  ?  "  returned  the  unobservant 
Millington.  "  I  have  always  considered  Sarah's  friend  as 
a  particularly  reliable  and  safe  sort  of  person." 

"  Even  on  Anna  Updyke  ! — and  a  particularly  reliable 
and  safe  sort  of  person  !  You  have  thought  this,  Mike, 
because  she  is  Sarah's  bosom  friend  ? " 

"That  may  have  prejudiced  me  in  her  favor,  I  will  al- 
low ;  for  I  like  most  things  that  Sarah  likes." 

John  looked  at  his  friend  and  future  brother-in-law  with 
an  amused  surprise  ;  the  idea  of  liking  Anna  Updyke  on 
any  account  but  her  own,  striking  him  as  particularly  ab- 
surd. But  they  were  soon  at  Timms's  door,  and  the  con- 
versation dropped  as  a  matter  of  course. 

No  one  who  has  ever  travelled  much  in  the  interior  of 
America,  can  easily  mistake  the  character  of  one  of  the 
small  edifices,  with  the  gable  to  the  street,  ornamented 
with  what  are  erroneously  termed  Venetian  blinds,  painted 
white,  and  with  an  air  of  tobacco-smoke  and  the  shabby- 
genteel  about  it,  notwithstanding  its  architectural  preten- 
sions. This  is  a  lawyer's  office,  thus  brought  edgeways  to 
the  street,  as  if  the  owner  felt  the  necessity  of  approaching 
the  thoroughfare  of  the  world  a  little  less  directly  than  the 
rest  of  mankind.  It  often  happens  that  these  buildings, 
small  as  they  usually  are,  contain  two,  or  even  three 
rooms  ;  and  that  the  occupants,  if  single  men,  sleep  in 
them  as  well  as  transact  their  business.  Such  was  the  case 
with  Timms,  his  "office,"  as  the  structure  was  termed, 
containing  his  bedroom,  in  addition  to  an  inner  and  at, 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   SfOTA\  249 

outer  department  devoted  to  the  purposes  of  the  law. 
Dunscomb  was  in  the  sanctum,  while  a  single  clerk  and 
three  or  four  clients,  countrymen  of  decent  exterior  and 
very  expecting  countenances,  occupied  the  outer  room. 
John  and  Millington  went  into  the  presence  with  little  or 
no  hesitation. 

Wilmeter  was  not  accustomed  to  much  circumlocution  ; 
and  he  at  once  communicated  the  substance  of  the  strange 
rumor  that  was  in  circulation,  touching  their  interesting 
client.  The  uncle  listened  with  intense  attention,  turning 
pale  as  the  nephew  proceeded.  Instead  of  answering  or 
making  any  comment,  he  sunk  upon  a  chair,  leaned  his 
hands  on  a  table  and  his  head  on  his  hands,  for  fully  a 
minute.  All  were  struck  with  these  signs  of  agitation  ; 
but  no  one  dared  to  interfere.  At  length,  this  awful  pause 
came  to  a  close,  and  Dunscomb  raised  his  head,  the  face 
still  pale  and  agitated.  His  eye  immediately  sought  that 
of  Millington. 

"You  had  heard  this  story,  Michael?"  demanded  the 
counsellor. 

"  I  had,  sir.  John  and  I  wrent  together  to  try  to  trace  it 
to  some  authority." 

"  With  what  success  ? " 

"  None  whatever.  It  is  in  every  one's  mouth,  but  no 
one  can  say  whence  it  came.  Most  rumors  have  a  clew, 
but  this  seems  to  have  none." 

"Do  you  trace  the  connection  which  has  struck — which 
has  oppressed  me  ?  " 

"  I  do,  sir,  and  was  so  struck  the  moment  I  heard  the 
rumor  ;  for  the  facts  are  in  singular  conformity  with  what 
you  communicated  to  me  some  months  since." 

"  They  are,  indeed,  and  create  a  strong  probability  that 
there  is  more  truth  in  this  rumor  than  is  commonly  to  be 
found  in  such  reports.  What  has  become  of  Timms  ? " 

"On  the  ground,  squire,"  answered  that  worthy  from 
the  outer  room — "  just  dispatching  my  clerk  " — this  word 
he  pronounced  "clurk"  instead  of  "dark,"  by  way  of 
showing  he  knew  how  to  spell — "with  a  message  to  one 
of  my  men.  He  will  find  him  and  be  with  us  in  a  minute." 

In  the  meantime,  Timms  had  a  word  to  say  to  each  client 
in  succession  ;  getting  rid  of  them  all  by  merely  telling 
each  man,  in  his  turn,  there  was  not  the  shadow  of  doubt 
that  he  would  get  the  better  of  his  opponent  in  the  trial 
that  was  so  near  at  hand.  It  may  be  said  here,  as  a  proof 
how  much  a  legal  prophet  may  be  mistaken,  Timms  was 


250  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

subsequently  beaten  in  each  of  these  three  suits,  to  the 
great  disappointment  of  as  many  anxious  husbandmen, 
each  of  whom  fondly  counted  on  success,  from  the  oily 
promises  he  had  received. 

In  a  very  few  minutes  the  agent  expected  by  Timms  ap- 
peared in  the  office.  He  was  plain-looking,  rather  rough 
and  honest  in  appearance,  with  a  most  wily,  villanous  leer 
of  the  eye.  His  employer  introduced  him  as  Mr.  Johnson. 

"Well,  Johnson,  what  news?"  commenced  Timms. 
"These  are  friends  to  Mary  Monson,  and  you  can  speak 
out,  always  avoiding  partic'lar  partic'lars." 

Johnson  leered,  helped  himself  to  a  chew  of  tobacco  with 
great  deliberation,  a  trick  he  had  when  he  needed  a  mo- 
ment of  thought  before  he  made  his  revelations  ;  bowed 
respectfully  to  the  great  York  lawyer  ;  took  a  good  look 
at  each  of  the  young  men,  as  if  to  measure  their  means  of 
doing  good  or  harm  ;  and  then  condescended  to  reply. 

"Not  very  good,"  was  the  answer.  "That  foreign  in- 
strument, which  they  say  is  just  such  a  one  as  David  used 
when  he  played  before  Saul,  has  done  a  good  deal  of  harm. 
It  won't  do,  Squire  Timms,  to  fiddle  off  an  indictment  for 
murder  !  Mankind  gets  engaged  in  such  causes  ;  and  if 
they  desire  music  on  the  trial,  it's  the  music  of  law  and 
evidence  that  they  want." 

"  Have  you  heard  any  reports  concerning  Mary  Monson's 
past  life  ? — if  so,  can  you  tell  where  they  come  from  ? " 

Johnson  knew  perfectly  well  whence  a  portion  of  the 
rumors  came  ;  those  which  told  in  favor  of  the  accused  ; 
but  these  he  easily  comprehended  were  not  the  reports  to 
which  Timms  alluded. 

"  Biberry  is  full  of  all  sorts  of  rumors,"  returned  John- 
son, cautiously,  "  as  it  commonly  is  in  court-time.  Parties 
like  to  make  the  most  of  their  causes." 

"  You  know  my  meaning — we  have  no  time  to  lose  ;  an- 
swer at  once." 

"  I  suppose  I  do  know  what  you  mean,  Squire  Timms  ; 
and  I  have  heard  the  report.  In  rny  judgment,  the  person 
who  set  it  afloat  is  no  friend  of  Mary  Monson's." 

"You  think,  then,  it  will  do  her  damage  ?" 

"  To  the  extent  of  her  neck.  Eve,  before  she  touched 
the  apple,  could  not  have  been  acquitted  in  the  face  of 
such  a  rumor.  I  look  upon  your  client  as  a  lost  woman, 
Squire  Timms." 

"Does  that  seem  to  be  the  common  sentiment — that  is, 
so  far  as  you  can  judge  ?  " 


THE   IV AYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  251 

"  Among  the  jurors  it  does." 

"  The  jurors  !"  exclaimed  Dunscomb — "what  can  you 
possibly  know  of  the  opinions  of  the  jurors,  Mr.  Johnson  ?  " 

A  cold  smile  passed  over  the  man's  face,  and  he  looked 
steadily  at  Timms,  as  if  to  catch  a  clew  that  might  conduct 
him  safely  through  the  difficulties  of  his  case.  A  frown 
that  was  plain  enough  to  the  agent,  though  admirably  con- 
cealed from  all  others  in  the  room,  told  him  to  be  cautious. 

"  I  only  know  what  I  see  and  hear.  Jurors  are  men,  and 
other  men  can  sometimes  get  an  insight  into  their  feelings, 
without  running  counter  to  law.  I  heard  the  rumor  re- 
lated myself,  in  the  presence  of  seven  of  the  panel.  It's 
true,  no'thing  was  said  of  the  murder,  or  the  arson  ;  but 
such  a  history  of  the  previous  life  of  the  accused  was  given 
as  Lady  Washington  couldn't  have  stood  up  ag'in,  had  she 
been  livin',  and  on  trial  for  her  life." 

"  Was  anything  said  of  insanity  ? "  asked  Dunscomb. 

"  Ah,  that  plea  will  do  no  good,  nowadays  ;  it's  worn 
out.  They'd  hang  a  murderer  from  Bedlam.  Insanity  has 
been  overdone,  and  can't  be  depended  on  any  longer." 

"Was  anything  said  on  the  subject?"  repeated  the 
counsellor. 

"  Why,  to  own  the  truth,  there  was  ;  but,  as  that  told 
for  Mary  Monson,  and  not  ag'in  her,  it  was  not  pressed." 

"  You  think,  then,  that  the  story  has  been  circulated  by 
persons  in  favor  of  the  prosecution  ?  " 

"  I  know  it.  One  of  the  other  side  said  to  me,  not  ten 
minutes  ago — '  Johnson,'  said  he — *  we  are  old  friends  ' — he 
always  speaks  to  me  in  that  familiar  way — *  Johnson,'  said 
he,  'you'd  a  done  better  to  have  gi'n  up.  What's  five 
thousand  dollars  to  the  likes  of  her  ?  and  them,  you  know, 
is  the  figures.'  " 

"This  is  a  pretty  exhibition  of  the  manner  of  adminis- 
tering justice  !"  exclaimed  the  indignant  Dunscomb.  "  Long 
as  I  have  been  at  the  bar,  I  had  no  conception  that  such 
practices  prevailed.  At  all  events,  this  illegality  will  give 
a  fair  occasion  to  demand  a  qew  trial." 

"  Ay,  the  sharpest  lawyer  that  ever  crossed  Harlem 
Bridge  can  1'arn  something  in  old  Dukes,"  said  Johnson, 
nodding.  "  Squire  Timms  will  stand  to  that.  As  for  new 
trials,  I  only  wonder  the  lawyers  don't  get  one  each  time 
they  are  beaten  ;  for  the  law  would  bear  them  out." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how,  Master  Johnson,"  put  in 
Timms.  "  That  would  be  a  secret  worth  knowing." 

"  A  five-dollar  note  will  buy  it," 


252  THE   WAYS   OF    THE  HOUR. 

"There's  one  of  ten — now,  tell  me  your  secret." 

"Well,  squire,  you  be  a  gentleman,  whatever  folks  may 
say  and  think  of  you.  I'd  rather  do  business  with  you, 
by  one-half,  than  do  business  with  Williams  ;  notwith- 
standing he  has  such  a  name  up  and  down  the  coun- 
try. Stick  to  it,  and  you'll  get  the  nomination  to  the 
Sinat';  and  the  nomination  secured,  you're  sure  of  the 
seat.  Nomination  is  the  government  of  Ameriky  ;  and 
that's  secured  by  a  wonderful  few  !  " 

"  I  believe  you  are  more  than  half  right,  Johnson." 
Here  Dunscomb,  his  nephew,  and  Millington  left  the  office, 
quite  unnoticed  by  the  two  worthies,  who  had  entered  on 
a  subject  as  engrossing  as  that  of  Timms's  elevation  to  the 
Senate.  And,  by  the  way,  as  this  book  is  very  likely  to  be 
introduced  to  the  world,  it  may  be  well  enough  to  explain 
that  we  have  two  sorts  of  "Senates"  in  this  country; 
wheels  within  wheels.  There  is  the  Senate  of  each  State, 
without  an  exception  now,  we  believe  ;  and  there  is  the 
Senate  of  the  United  States  ;  the  last  being,  in  every  sense, 
much  the  most  dignified  and  important  body.  It  being 
unfortunately  true  that  "nominations  "  are  the  real  people 
of  America,  unless  in  cases  which  arouse  the  nation,  the 
State  Senates  very  often  contain  members  altogether  un- 
suited  to  their  trusts  ;  men  who  have  obtained  their  seats 
by  party  legerdemain ;  and  who  had  much  better,  on  their 
own  account,  as  well  as  on  that  of  the  public,  be  at  home 
attending  to  their  own  private  affairs.  This  much  may  be 
freely  said  by  any  citizen,  of  a  State  Senate,  a  collection 
of  political  partisans  that  commands  no  particular  respect  ; 
but  it  is  very  different  with  that  of  the  United  States  ;  and 
we  shall  confine  ourselves  to  saying,  in  reference  to  that 
body,  which  it  is  the  fashion  of  the  times  to  reverence  as 
the  most  illustrious  political  body  on  earth,  that  it  is  not 
quite  as  obnoxious  to  this  judgment  as  the  best  of  its  sis- 
terhood of  the  several  States  ;  though  very  far  from  being 
immaculate,  or  what,  with  a  little  more  honesty  in  political 
leaders,  it  might  be. 

"  I  believe  you  are  half  right,  Johnson, "answered  Timms. 
"  Nomination  is  the  government  in  this  country ;  liberty, 
people,  and  all !  Let  a  man  get  a  nomination  on  the 
right  side,  and  he's  as  good  as  elected.  But  now  for  this 
mode  of  getting  new  trials,  Johnson  ?" 

"Why,  squire,  I'm  amazed  a  man  of  your  experience 
should  ask  the  question  !  The  law  is  sharp  enough  in 
keeping  jurors,  and  constables,  and  door-keepers,  in  their 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  253 

places  ;  but  the  jurors,  and  constables,  and  door-keepers, 
don't  like  to  be  kept  in  their  places  ;  and  there  isn't  one 
cause  in  ten,  if  they  be  of  any  length,  in  which  the  jurors 
don't  stray,  or  the  constables  don't  get  into  the  jury  rooms. 
You  can't  pound  free-born  American  citizens  like  cattle !  " 

"  I  understand  you,  Johnson,  and  will  take  the  hint.  I 
knew  there  was  a  screw  loose  in  this  part  of  our  jurispru- 
dence, but  did  not  think  it  as  important  as  I  now  see  it  is. 
The  fact  is,  Johnson,  we  have  been  telling  the  people  so 
long  that  they  are  perfect,  and  every  man  that  he,  in  his 
own  person,  is  one  of  these  people,  that  our  citizens  don't 
like  to  submit  to  restraints  that  are  disagreeable.  Still,  we 
are  a  law-abiding  people,  as  every  one  says." 

"  That  may  be  so,  squire;  but  we  are  not  jury-room- 
abiding,  nor  be  the  constables  outside-of-the-door-abiding, 
take  my  word  for  it.  As  you  say,  sir,  every  man  is  begin- 
ning to  think  he  is  a  part  of  the  people,  and  a  great  part, 
too  ;  and  he  soon  gets  the  notion  that  he  can  do  as  he  has 
a  mind  to  do." 

"Where* is  Mr.  Dunscomb?" 

"  He  stepped  out  with  the  young  gentlemen,  a  few  mo- 
ments since.  I  dare  say,  Squire  Timms,  he's  gone  to  en- 
gage men  to  talk  down  this  rumor  about  Mary  Monson. 
That  job  should  have  been  mine,  by  rights  !  " 

"  Not  he,  Johnson — not  he.  Your  grand  lawyers  don't 
meddle  with  such  matters ;  or,  when  they  do,  they  pretend 
not  to.  No,  he  has  gone  to  the  jail,  and  I  must  follow  him." 

At  the  jail  was  Dunscomb,  sure  enough.  Mary  Monson, 
Anna  and  Sarah,  with  Marie  Moulin,  all  dressed  for  the 
court  ;  the  former  with  beautiful  simplicity,  but  still  more 
beautiful  care  ;  the  three  last  plainly,  but  in  attire  well 
suited  to  their  respective  stations  in  life.  There  was  a 
common  air  of  concern  and  anxiety  ;  though  Mary  Mon- 
son still  maintained  her  self-command.  Indeed,  the  quiet 
of  her  manner  was  truly  wonderful,  for  the  circumstances. 

"  Providence  has  placed  me  in  a  most  trying  situation," 
she  said;  "but  I  see  my  course.  Were  I  to  shrink  from 
this  trial,  evade  it  in  any  manner,  a  blot  would  rest  on  my 
name  as  long  as  I  am  remembered.  It  is  indispensable 
that  I  should  be  acquitted.  This,  by  God's  blessing  on  the 
innocent,  must  come  to  pass,  and  I  may  go  forth  and  face 
my  friends  with  a  quiet  mind." 

"  These  friends  ought  to  be  known,"  answered  Duns- 
comb,  "  and  should  be  here  to  countenance  you  with 
their  presence." 


254  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

"They!     He!     Never — while  I  live,  never!" 

"  You  see  this  young  man,  Mary  Monson — I  believe  he 
is  known  to  you,  by  name  ?" 

Mary  Monson  turned  her  face  toward  Millington,  smiled 
coldly,  and  seemed  undisturbed. 

"  What  is  he  to  me  ?  Here  is  the  woman  of  his  heart — 
let  him  turn  to  her,  with  all  his  care." 

"You  understand  me,  Mary  Monson — it  is  important 
that  I  should  be  assured  of  that" 

"Perhaps  I  do,  Mr.  Dunscomb,  and  perhaps  I  do  not. 
You  are  enigmatical  this  morning  ;  I  cannot  be  certain." 

"  In  one  short  half-hour  the  bell  of  yonder  court-house 
will  ring,  when  you  are  to  be  tried  for  your  life." 

The  cheek  of  the  accused  blanched  a  little  ;  but  its  color 
soon  returned,  while  her  eye  assumed  a  look  even  prouder 
than  common. 

"Let  it  come" — was  her  quiet  answer — "  the  innocent 
need  not  tremble.  These  two  pure  beings  have  promised 
to  accompany  me  to  the  place  of  trial,  and  to  give  me  their 
countenance.  Why,  then,  should  I  hesitate?" 

"I  shall  go,  too" — said  Millington  steadily,  like  one 
whose  mind  was  made  up. 

"  You  !  Well,  for  the  sake  of  this  dear  one,  you  may  go, 
too." 

"  For  no  other  reason,  Mary  ? " 

"  For  no  other  reason,  sir.  I  am  aware  of  the  interest 
you  and  Mr.  Wilmeter  have  taken  in  my  case  ;  and  I  thank 
you  both  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  Ah  !  kindness 
was  never  lost  on  me " 

A  flood  of  tears,  for  the  first  time  since  her  imprison- 
ment, so  far  as  anyone  knew,  burst  from  this  extraordinary 
being  ;  and,  for  a  few  minutes,  she  became  woman  in  the 
fullest  meaning  of  the  term. 

During  this  interval  Dunscomb  retired,  perceiving  that 
it  was  useless  to  urge  anything  on  his  client  while  weep- 
ing almost  convulsively  ;  and  aware  that  he  had  several 
things  to  do  before  the  court  met.  Besides,  he  left  the 
place  quite  satisfied  on  an  all-important  point ;  and  he  and 
Millington  walked  by  themselves  toward  the  court-house, 
their  heads  close  together,  and  their  voices  reduced  nearly 
to  whispers. 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  I  blush,  and  am  confounded  to  appear 

Before  thy  presence,  Cato." 
"  What's  thy  crime?" 
"  I  am  a  Numidian." — Cato. 

WITHIN  the  half-hour  mentioned  by  Dunscomb,  the  court- 
house bell  rang,  and  there  was  a  rush  toward  that  build- 
ing, in  order  to  secure  seats  for  the  approaching  trial.  All 
that  has  been  related  in  the  preceding  chapter  occurred 
between  the  hours  of  six  and  nine  that  morning,  it  being 
one  of  the  "ways  of  the  hour"  in  the  march  of  improve- 
ment, to  drive  the  administration  of  justice  with  as  near  an 
approach  to  railroad  speed  as  is  practicable.  Many  of  the 
modern  judges  go  to  work  as  early  as  eight  in  the  morn- 
ing— perhaps  most  do  in  the  country  circuits — and  con- 
tinue to  call  causes  until  nine  and  ten  at  night,  illustrating 
the  justice  of  the  land  by  means  of  agents  who  are  half 
asleep,  and  stupid  from  fatigue. 

We  have  said  that  everything  like  dignity,  except  as  it 
is  to  be  found  in  the  high  character  of  its  duties,  and  the 
manner  in  which  they  are  performed,  has  been  banished 
from  the  courts  of  New  York.  Even  on  this  solemn  occa- 
sion, when  a  human  being  was  to  be  put  on  trial  for  her 
life,  and  she  a  woman,  there  was  no  departure  from  the 
naked  simplicity  that  has  been  set  up  on  the  pedestal  of 
reason,  in  open  opposition  to  the  ancient  accessories  by 
which  the  Law  asserted  its  power.  It  remains  to  be  seen 
whether  human  nature  has  not  been  as  much  overesti- 
mated under  the  new  arrangement  as  it  was  underrated  by 
the  old.  There  is  a  medium,  in  truth,  that  it  is  ever  safe 
to  respect ;  and  there  is  reason  to  apprehend  that  in  throw- 
ing away  the  useless  vestments  of  idle  parade,  those  neces- 
sary to  decency  were  cast  aside  with  them. 

Quite  a  fourth  of  the  audience  assembled  in  Dukes 
County  court-house,  on  this  occasion,  were  females.  The 
curiosity,  which  is  said  to  be  so  natural  to  the  sex,  was,  on  this 
occasion,  quickened  by  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  the 
case,  a  woman  having  been  murdered,  and  a  woman  ac- 
cused of  having  committed  the  offence.  It  was  said,  how- 
ever, that  many  were  summoned  as  witnesses,  it  being  gen- 
erally understood  that  the  State  had  subpoenaed  the 
country  far  and  near. 


«5«  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR, 

At  length  a  general  and  expecting  silence  succeeded  the 
bustle  of  the  crowds  entering  and  obtaining  seats,  and  the 
eyes  of  the  spectators  were  very  generally  turned  toward 
the  door,  in  the  wish  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  principal  per- 
sonage in  the  approaching  scene.  We  know  not  why  it  is 
that  the  spectacle  of  others'  woes  has  so  great  a  charm  for 
most  persons.  Nature  has  given  us  sympathy  and  com- 
passion, and  a  desire  to  alleviate  misery  ;  yet  most  of  us 
like  to  look  upon  it,  as  a  mere  spectacle,  when  we  have 
neither  the  wish  nor  the  power  to  be  more  than  useless 
spectators.  Thousands  will  assemble  to  see  a  man  hanged, 
when  all  know  that  the  law  has  a  grasp  too  tight  to  be  un- 
loosed, and  that  the  circle  of  the  gallows  is  no  place  for 
feelings  of  commiseration.  But,  so  it  is  ;  and  many  a  fe- 
male that  day,  who  would  have  gladly  alleviated  any  dis- 
tress that  it  was  in  her  power  to  lessen,  sat  there,  a 
curious  and  interested  observer  of  all  that  passed  ;  to 
note  the  workings  of  the  countenance,  the  writhings  of 
the  inner  soul,  if  any  such  there  should  be,  or  the  gleams 
of  hope  that  might,  at  intervals,  lighten  the  gloom  of  de- 
spair. 

The  court  was  occupied  for  half  an  hour  with  hearing 
motions,  and  in  granting  orders,  nothing  seeming  to  im- 
pede its  utilitarian  progress.  Then  the  movement  within 
the  bar  ceased,  and  an  expectation,  that  was  even  solemn, 
fell  on  the  whole  mass  of  human  beings  that  were  collected 
in  that  narrow  space. 

"  This  is  the  day  for  which  the  trial  of  Mary  Monson 
was,  by  arrangement,  set  down,"  observed  the  judge.  "  Mr. 
District  Attorney,  are  you  ready?" 

"We  are,  sir — entirely  so,  I  believe.  If  the  court  please, 
Mr.  Williams  and  Mr.  Wright  will  be  associated  with  me 
in  this  case.  It  is  one  of  importance,  and  I  do  not  like  the 
responsibility  of  trying  it  alone." 

"The  court  has  so  understood  it — who  is  for  the  ac- 
cused?" 

"  I  am  retained  to  defend  Mary  Monson,"  answered  Duns- 
comb,  rising  with  dignity,  and  speaking  with  the  self-pos- 
session of  one  long  accustomed  to  the  courts.  "  Mr.  Timms 
will  assist  me." 

"  Are  you  ready,  gentlemen  ?  " 

"  I  believe  we  are,  your  honor  ;  though  the  prisoner  has 
not  yet  been  arraigned." 

"  Mr.  District  Attorney,  we  will  proceed." 

As  the   sheriff  now  left  the  room  in  person,  rather  an 


THE    WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  257 

unusual  thing  in  bringing  a  prisoner  into  court,  expecta- 
tion was  at  its  height.  Tn  the  midst  of  a  breathing  silence 
the  door  swung  round — court-room  doors  are  now  made  to 
swing  like  turnpikes,  in  order  to  prevent  noise — and  Mr. 
Gott  entered,  followed  by  Mary  Monson,  Anna,  Sarah, 
Marie  Moulin,  and  the  two  young  men.  The  kind-hearted 
wife  of  the  sheriff  was  already  in  the  room,  and,  by  means 
of  a  constable,  had  managed  to  keep  seats  reserved  for 
those  who  might  attend  the  prisoner.  To  these  seats  the 
party  now  retired,  with  the  exception  of  Marie  Moulin, 
who  attended  her  mistress  within  the  bar. 

Every  observer  was  struck  with  the  unexpected  air, 
manner,  and  attire  of  the  prisoner.  Dunscomb  saw,  at  a 
glance,  that  her  appearance  had  made  a  most  favorable  im- 
pression. This  was  something,  and  he  hoped  it  might 
counteract  much  of  the  manoeuvring  of  Davis  and  Williams. 
The  judge,  in  particular,  a  kind-hearted  and  very  well- 
meaning  man,  was  taken  altogether  by  surprise.  There  is 
nothing  in  which  there  is  more  freemasonry  than  in  the 
secret  symptoms  of  social  castes.  Each  individual  is  more 
or  less  of  a  judge  of  these  matters,  up  to  the  level  of  his 
own  associations,  while  all  beyond  is  mystery.  It  hap- 
pened that  the  judge  now  about  to  try  Mary  Monson,  be- 
longed to  an  old,  historical  New  York  family,  a  thing  of 
rather  rare  occurrence  in  the  great  movements  of  the  times, 
and  he  possessed  an  hereditary  tact  in  discerning  persons 
of  his  own  habits  of  life.  Almost  at  a  glance  he  perceived 
that  the  prisoner  had  the  air,  manners,  countenance  and 
finesse  of  one  accustomed,  from  infancy,  to  good  company. 
The  reader  may  smile  at  this,  but  he  must  pardon  us  if  we 
say  the  smile  will  betray  ignorance,  rather  than  denote  the 
philosophy  that  he  may  fancy  controls  his  opinions.  Duns- 
comb  was  much  gratified  when  the  judge  rather  earnestly 
interposed  against  the  act  of  the  sheriff,  who  was  about  to 
place  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  in  the  little  barricaded  place 
allotted  to  the  use  of  ordinary  criminals,  directing  him 
to— 

"  Give  the  prisoner  a  chair  within  the  bar,  Mr.  Sheriff. 
Gentlemen,  be  so  good  as  to  make  room,  that  the  accused 
may  sit  near  her  counsel.  Mr.  Attorney,  let  the  prisoner 
be  arraigned,  as  soon  as  she  has  rested  from  the  fatigue 
and  agitation  of  appearing  here." 

This  ceremony,  now  little  more  than  a  blank  form,  was 
soon  ended,  and  the  plea  of  "  not  guilty  "  was  entered.  The 
next  step  was  to  impanel  the  jury,  a  task  of  infinite  diffi- 

'7 


258  THE   WAYS   OF    THF.    HOUR. 

culty,  and  one  that  has  got  to  be  so  much  an  outwork,  in 
the  proceedings  in  criminal  cases,  as  almost  to  baffle  the 
powers  of  the  law.  It  is  no  unusual  thing  for  the  time  of 
the  court  to  be  occupied  a  week  or  two,  in  this  prelimi- 
nary proceeding,  until  the  evil  has  got  to  be  so  crying  as 
to  induce  the  executive  to  recommend  that  the  legislature 
may  devise  some  mode  of  relief.  One  of  the  most  beset* 
ting  vices  of  all  American  legislation  in  those  cases  in 
which  abuses  are  not  the  offspring  of  party,  is  a  false  phil- 
anthropy, in  which  the  wicked  and  evil-doer  has  been 
protected  at  the  expense  of  the  upright  and  obedient.  The 
abuse  just  mentioned  is  one  of  those  in  which  the  bottom 
has  been  reached  somewhat  sooner  than  common  ;  but  it 
is  hazarding  little  to  predict,  that  more  than  half  which  has 
been  done  within  the  last  few  years,  under  the  guise  of 
liberty  and  philanthropy,  will  have  to  be  undone,  ere  the 
citizen  will  be  left  to  the  quiet  enjoyment  of  his  rights,  or 
can  receive  the  just  protection  of  the  laws. 

One  of  the  common-sense  and  real  improvements  of  the 
day  is  to  swear  the  jurors,  in  all  the  causes  that  are  to  be 
tried,  by  one  process.  This  is  a  saving  of  time  ;  and  though 
the  ceremony  might  be,  and  ought  to  be  made,  much  more 
solemn  and  impressive  than  it  is,  as  by  causing  all  other 
business  to  cease,  and  to  make  every  one  present  rise,  and 
stand  in  reverential  silence,  while  the  name  of  the  God  of 
heaven  and  earth  is  invoked,  still  it  is  a  great  improvement 
on  the  ancient  mode,  and  has  reason  to  sustain  it.  It  gives 
us  pleasure  to  note  such  circumstances  in  the  "ways  of  the 
hour,"  whenever  a  sense  of  right  can  induce  one  who 
loathes  the  flattery  of  the  people  quite  as  much  as  he 
loathes  that  of  princes,  and  flattery  of  all  sorts,  to  say  aught 
in  favor  of  what  has  been  done,  or  is  yet  doing  around 
him. 

The  clerk  called  the  name  of  Jonas  Wattles,  the  first 
juror  drawn.  This  man  was  a  respectable  mechanic,  of  no 
great  force  in  the  way  of  mind,  but  meaning  well,  and  re- 
puted honest.  Timms  gave  the  senior  counsel  a  look, 
which  the  other  understood  to  mean,  "he  may  do."  No 
objection  being  made  on  account  of  the  State,  Jonas  Wat- 
tles took  his  seat  in  the  jury-box,  which  was  thought  great 
good  luck  for  a  capital  case. 

"  Ira  Trueman,"  cried  the  clerk. 

A  meaning  pause  succeeded  the  announcement  of  this 
name.  Trueman  was  a  person  of  considerable  Jocal  influ- 
ence, and  would  probably  carry  great  weight  in  a  bod3' 


TPI8*  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  2$g 

composed  principally  of  men  even  less  instructed  than  he 
was  himself.  What  'was  more,  both  Timms  and  Williams 
knew  that  their  respective  agents  had  been  hard  at  work  to 
gain  his  ear,  though  neither  knew  exactly  with  what  degree 
of  success.  It  was  consequently  equally  hazardous  to 
accept  or  to  oppose,  and  the  two  legal  gladiators  stood  at 
bay,  each  waiting  for  the  other  to  betray  his  opinion  of  the 
man.  The  judge  soon  became  weaned,  and  inquired  if  the 
juror  was  accepted.  It  was  a  somewhat  amusing  sight, 
now,  to  observe  the  manner  in  which  Timms  proceeded 
with  Williams,  and  Williams  met  Timms. 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  the  gentleman's  objections  to  this 
juror,"  observed  Timms,  "as  I  do  not  see  that  his  challenge 
is  peremptory." 

"  I  have  not  challenged  the  juror  at  all,"  answered  Wil- 
liams, "but  have  understood  the  challenge  comes  from  the 
defence." 

"  This  is  extr'or'nary  !  The  gentleman  looks  defiance  at 
the  juror,  and  now  declares  he  does  not  challenge  !  " 

"  Looks  !  If  looks  made  a  challenge,  the  State  might  at 
once  suffer  these  foul  murders  to  go  unpunished,  for  I  am 
sure  the  gentleman's  countenance  is  a  perfect  thunder- 
cloud  " 

"  I  trust  that  counsel  will  recollect  the  gravity  of  this 
cause,  and  suffer  it  to  be  conducted  with  the  decorum  that 
ought  never  to  be  wanting  in  a  court  of  justice,"  interposed 
the  judge.  "  Unless  there  is  a  direct  challenge,  from  one 
side  or  the  other,  the  juror  must  take  his  seat,  of  course." 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  the  juror  a  question  or  two," 
Timms  replied,  speaking  very  cautiously,  and  like  one  who 
was  afraid  of  hurting  the  feelings  of  the  party  under  ex- 
amination ;  and  in  truth  wary,  lest  on  investigation  he 
might  discover  that  Trueman  was  likely  to  be  the  sort  of 
person  he  wanted.  "  You  have  been  at  Biberry,  juror, 
since  the  opening  of  the  court  ? " 

Trueman  nodded  his  head. 

"  Of  course,  you  have  been  round  among  your  friends 
arid  neighbors,  that  you  have  met  with  here  ? " 

Another  nod  from  Trueman,  with  a  sort  of  affirmative 
grunt. 

"  You  have  probably  heard  more  or  less  said  concerning 
Mary  Monson — I  mean  in  a  legal  and  proper  way  ?  " 

A  third  nod  of  assent. 

"  Can  you  speak  anything,  in  particular,  that  has  been 
said  in  your  presence  ?" 


26o  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

Trueman  seemed  to  tax  his  memory,  then  he  raised  his 
head,  and  answered  deliberately  and  with  great  clearness  : 
"  I  was  going  from  the  tavern  to  the  court-house,  when 
I  met  David  Johnson " 

"  Never  mind  those  particulars,  Mr.  Trueman,"  inter- 
rupted Timms,  who  saw  that  the  juror  had  been  talking 
with  one  of  his  own  most  confidential  agents — "  what  the 
court  wishes  to  know  is,  if  any  one  has  been  reporting 
circumstances  unfavorable  to  Mary  Monson  in  your  pres- 
ence ?" 

"  Or  in  her  favor,"  put  in  Williams,  with  a  sneer. 

"Juror,"  interposed  the  judge — "tell  us  if  any  one  Aas 
spoken  to  you  on  the  merits  of  this  case — for  or  against  ?  " 

"  Merits  " — repeated  Trueman,  seeming  to  reflect  again. 
"  No,  your  honor  ;  I  can't  say  that  there  has." 

Now,  this  was  as  bold  a  falsehood  as  was  ever  uttered  ; 
but  Trueman  reconciled  the  answer  to  his  conscience  by 
choosing  to  consider  that  the  conversation  he  had  heard 
had  been  on  the  demerits  of  the  accused. 

"I  do  not  see,  gentlemen,  that  you  can  challenge  for 
cause,"  observed  his  Honor — "  unless  you  have  further 
facts." 

"  Perhaps  we  have,  sir,"  answered  "Williams.  "  You  were 
saying,  Mr.  Trueman,  that  you  met  David  Johnson  as  you 
were  going  from  the  inn  to  the  court-house.  Did  I  under- 
stand you  correctly  ?  " 

"  Just  so,  squire.  I  had  been  having  a  long  talk  with 
Peter  Titus  " — one  of  Williams's  most  active  and  confiden- 
tial agents — "when  Johnson  came  up.  Johnson  says,  says 
he,  '  A  pleasant  day,  gentlemen— -I'm  glad  to  see  you  both 
out ;  for  the  faces  of  old  friends  is  getting  scarce ' 

"  I  see  no  objection  to  the  juror's  being  received,"  Wil- 
liams carelessly  remarked ;  satisfied  that  Titus  had  not 
neglected  his  duty  in  that  long  talk. 

"  Yes,  he  is  as  good  a  juror  as  Dukes  can  furnish,"  ob- 
served Timms,  perfectly  sure  Johnson  had  turned  to  ac- 
count the  advantage  of  having  the  last  word.  Trueman 
was  accordingly  admitted  to  the  box,  as  the  second  man 
of  the  twelve.  The  two  managers  of  this  cause  were  both 
right.  Titus  had  crammed  his  old  acquaintance  Trueman 
with  all  that  was  circulating  to  the  prejudice  of  the  pris- 
oner ;  expressing  surprise  when  he  had  said  all  he  had  to 
say,  at  hearing  that  his  friend  was  on  the  panel.  "Well," 
said  Titus,  as  Johnson  approached,  "  if  questioned,  you'll 
remember  I  said  I  didn't  dream  of  your  being  a  juryman— 


THE   WA  YS   OF   THE  HOUR.  261 

but,  just  as  like  as  not,  you'll  not  be  drawn  for  the  case  at 
all."  On  the  other  hand,  Johnson  was  quite  eloquent  and 
pathetic  in  giving  his  old  acquaintance  the  history  of  Mary 
Monson's  case,  whom  he  pronounced  "a  most  injured  and 
parsecuted  woman."  Trueman,  a  shrewd,  managing  fellow 
in  general,  fancied  himself  just  as  impartial  and  fit  to  try 
the  cause,  after  he  had  heard  the  stories  of  the  two  men,  as 
he  had  ever  been  ;  but  in  this  he  was  mistaken.  It  requires 
an  unusually  clear  head,  exceedingly  high  principles,  and 
a  great  knowledge  of  men,  to  maintain  perfect  impartiality 
in  these  cases  ;  and  certainly  Trueman  was  not  the  man  to 
boast  of  all  these  rare  qualities.  In  general,  the  last  word 
tells  ;  but  it  sometimes  happens  that  first  impressions  be- 
come difficult  to  eradicate.  Such  was  the  fact  in  the  pres- 
ent instance  ;  Trueman  taking  his  seat  in  the  jury  box  with 
an  exceedingly  strong  bias  against  the  accused. 

We  are  aware  that  these  are  not  the  colors  in  which  it  is 
the  fashion  to  delineate  the  venerable  and  much  vaunted 
institution  of  the  jury,  certainly  a  most  efficient  agent  in 
curtailing  the  power  of  a  prince  ;  but  just  as  certainly  a 
most  irresponsible,  vague,  and  quite  often  an  unprincipled 
means  of  administering  the  law,  when  men  are  not  urged 
to  the  desire  of  doing  right  by  political  pressure  from  with- 
out, and  are  left  to  the  perverse  and  free  workings  of  a 
very  evil  nature.  We  represent  things  as  we  believe  them 
to  exist,  knowing  that  scarce  a  case  of  magnitude  occurs 
in  which  the  ministers  of  corruption  are  not  at  work 
among  the  jurors  or  a  verdict  rendered  in  which  the  fingers 
of  the  Father  of  Lies  might  not  be  traced,  were  the  veil 
removed,  and  the  facts  exposed  to  the  light  of  day.  It  is 
true,  that  in  trials  for  life,  the  persecution  of  the  prisoner 
rarely  takes  so  direct  a  form  as  has  been  represented  in  the 
case  of  Mary  Monson  ;  but  the  press  and  the  tongue  do  an 
incalculable  amount  of  evil,  even  in  such  cases  ;  all  the 
ancient  safeguards  of  the  law  having  been  either  directly 
removed  by  ill-considered  legislation,  or  rendered  dead- 
letters  by  the  "  ways  of  the  hour." 

It  was  regarded  as  exceedingly  good  progress  to  get  two 
jurors  into  the  box,  in  a  capital  case, -in  the  first  half-hour. 
His  honor  had  evidently  resigned  himself  to  a  twenty-four 
hours'  job  ;  and  great  was  his  satisfaction  when  he  saw 
Wattles  and  Trueman  safely  seated  on  their  hard  and  un- 
comfortable seats  ;  for  it  would  almost  seem  that  discom- 
fort has  been  brought  into  the  court-houses  as  a  sort  of 
auxiliary  to  the  old  practice  of  starving  a  jury  into  a  verdict, 


262  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

Whether  it  was  owing  to  a  suspicion,  on  the  part  of 
Timms,  of  the  truth  in  regard  to  his  being  over-reached  in 
the  case  of  Trueman,  or  to  some  other  cause,  he  raised  no 
objections  to  either  of  the  six  jurors  next  called.  His 
moderation  was  imitated  by  Williams.  Then  followed  two 
peremptory  challenges  ;  one  in  behalf  of  the  prisoner,  and 
one  in  behalf  of  the  people,  as  it  is  termed.  This  was  get- 
ting on  so  much  better  than  everybody  expected,  that  all 
were  in  good  humor,  and,  it  is  not  exceeding  the  truth,  if 
we  add,  in  a  slight  degree  more  disposed  to  view  the  pris- 
oner and  her  case  with  favor.  On  such  trifles  do  human 
decisions  very  often  depend. 

All  this  time,  fully  an  hour,  did  Mary  Monson  sit  in  re- 
signed submission  to  her  fate,  composed,  attentive,  and 
singularly  ladylike.  The  spectators  were  greatly  divided 
in  their  private  speculations  on  her  guilt  or  innocence. 
Some  saw  in  her  quiet  manner,  curious  interest  in  the  pro- 
ceedings, and  unchanging  color,  proofs  not  only  of  a 
hardened  conscience,  but  of  an  experience  in  scenes  similar 
to  that  in  which  she  was  now  engaged  ;  overlooking  all  the 
probabilities,  to  indulge  in  conjectures  so  severe  against 
one  so  young. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  cried  the  judge,  "time  is  precious. 
Let  us  proceed." 

The  ninth  juror  was  drawn,  and  it  proved  to  be  a 
country  trader  of  the  name  of  Hatfield,  This  person  was 
known  to  be  a  man  of  considerable  influence  among  per- 
sons of  his  own  class,  and  to  have  a  reputation  for  judg- 
ment, if  not  for  principles.  "They  might  as  well  send  the 
other  eleven  home,  and  let  Hatfield  pronounce  the  ver- 
dict," whispered  one  lawyer  to  another  ;  "  there  is  no  ma- 
terial in  that  box  to  withstand  his  logic." 

"Then  he  will  hold  this  young  woman's  life  in  his 
hand,"  was  the  reply. 

"  It  will  be  pretty  much  so.  The  glorious  institution  of 
the  jury  is  admirably  devised  to  bring  about  such  results." 

"  You  forget  the  judge  ;  he  has  the  last  word,  you  will 
remember." 

"  Thank  God  it  is  so  ;  else  would  our  condition  be  ter- 
rible. Lynch  law  is  preferable  to  laws  administered  by 
jurors  who  fancy  themselves  so  many  legislators." 

"  It  cannot  be  concealed  that  the  spirit  of  the  times  has 
invaded  the  jury-box  ;  and  the  court  has  not  one-half  its 
ancient  influence.  I  should  not  like  to  have  this  Hatfield 
against  me." 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  263 

It  would  seem  that  Williams  was  of  the  same  way  of 
thinking;  for  he  muttered  to  himself,  desired  the  juror 
not  to  enter  the  box,  and  seemed  to  be  pondering  on  the 
course  he  ought  to  pursue.  The  truth  was  that  he  himself 
had  recently  sued  Hatfield'  for  debt,  and  the  proceedings 
had  been  a  little  vindictive.  One  of  the  dangers  that  your 
really  skilful  lawyer  has  to  guard  against  is  the  personal 
animosity  that  is  engendered  by  his  own  professional  prac- 
tice. Many  men  have  minds  so  constituted  that  their 
opinions  are  affected  by  prejudices  thus  created  ;  and  they 
do  not  scruple  to  transfer  their  hostility  from  the  counsel 
to  the  cause  he  is  employed  to  defend.  It  is  consequently 
incumbent  on  the  prudent  lawyer  to  make  his  estimate  of 
character  with  judgment,  and  be  as  sure,  as  the  nature  of 
the  case  will  allow,  that  his  client  is  not  to  suffer  for  his 
own  acts.  As  hostility  to  the  counsel  is  not  a  legal  objection 
to  a  juror,  Williams  was  under  the  necessity  of  presenting 
such  as  would  command  the  attention  of  the  court. 

"  I  wish  the  juror  may  be  sworn  to  make  true  answers," 
said  Williams. 

Timms  now  pricked  up  his  ears  ;  for,  if  it  were  of  im- 
portance for  Williams  to  oppose  the  reception  of  this  par- 
ticular individual,  it  was  probably  of  importance  to  Mary 
Monson  to  have  him  received.  On  this  principle,  there- 
fore, he  was  ready  to  resist  the  attack  on  the  juror,  who 
was  at  once  sworn. 

"You  reside  in  the  adjoining  town  of  Blackstone,  I  be- 
lieve, Mr.  Hatfield?"  asked  Williams. 

A  simple  assent  was  the  reply. 

"In  practice  there,  in  one  of  the  learned  professions?" 

Hatfield  was  certain  his  interrogator  knew  better,  for 
Williams  had  been  in  his  store  fifty  times  ;  but  he  answered 
with  the  same  innocent  manner  as  that  with  which  the 
question  was  put. 

"  I'm  in  trade." 

"  In  trade  !  Keep  a  store,  I  dare  say,  Mr.  Hatfield?" 

"  I  do — and  one  in  which  I  have  sold  you  hundreds  my- 
self." 

•  A  general  smile  succeeded  this  sally  ;  and  Timms  looked 
round  at  the  audience,  with  his  nose  pointing  upward,  as 
if  he  scented  his  game. 

"  I  dare  say — I  pay  as  I  go,"  returned  Williams,  "  and 
my  memory  is  not  loaded  with  such  transactions " 

"Mr.  Williams,"  interrupted  the  judge,  a  little  im- 
patiently, "  the  time  of  the  court  is  very  precious." 


264  THE  WAYS   OF  THE   HCfTlR. 

"So  is  the  dignity  of  the  outraged  laws  of  the  State, 
your  honor.  We  shall  soon  be  through,  sir. — Many  people 
in  the  habit  of  frequenting  your  store,  Mr.  Hatfield  ?" 

"As  much  so*as  is  usual  in  the  country." 

"  Ten  or  fifteen  at  a  time,  on  some  occasions  ?" 

"I  dare  say  there  may  be." 

"  Has  the  murder  of  Peter  Goodwin  ever  been  discussed 
by  your  customers  in  your  presence  ? " 

"I  don't  know  but  it  has — such  a  thing  is  very  likely; 
but  one  hears  so  much,  I  can't  say." 

"Did  you  ever  join  in  such  a  discussion  yourself?" 

"I  may,  or  I  may  not." 

"  I  ask  you,  now,  distinctly,  if  you  had  no  such  discus- 
sion on  the  26th  of  May  last,  between  the  hours  of  eleven 
and  twelve  in  the  forenoon  ?" 

The  sharpness  of  the  manner  in  which  this  question  was 
put,  the  minuteness  of  the  details,  and  the  particularity  of 
the  interrogatories,  quite  confounded  the  juror,  who  an- 
swered accordingly. 

"Such  a  thing  might  have  taken  place,  and  it  might  not. 
I  do  not  remember." 

"  Is  Jonas  White "  (a  regular  country  loafer)  "  in  the 
habit  of  being  in  your  store  ?" 

"  He  is — it  is  a  considerable  lounge  for  laboring  men." 

"And  Stephen  Hook?" 

"  Yes  ;  he  is  there  a  good  deal  of  his  time." 

"  Now,  I  beg  you  to  remember — did  not  such  a  conversa- 
tion take  place,  in  which  you  bore  a  part,  between  the 
hours  of  eleven  and  twelve  in  the  forenoon  ;  White  and 
Hook  being  present  ?  " 

Hatfield  seemed  perplexed.  He  very  conscientiously 
desired  to  tell  the  truth,  having  nothing  to  gain  by  an 
opposite  course  ;  but  he  really  had  no  recollection  of  any 
such  discussion,  as  well  might  be  the  case  ;  no  such  con- 
versation ever  having  taken  place.  Williams  knew  the 
habits  of  the  loafers  in  question,  had  selected  the  time  at 
random,  and  adopted  the  particularity  merely  as  a  means 
of  confounding  the  juror,  of  whom  he  wras  seriously 
afraid. 

**  Such  a  thing  may  have  happened,"  answered  Hatfield, 
after  a  pause — "  I  don't  remember." 

"  It  may  have  happened.  Now,  sir,  allow  me  to  ask  you, 
if,  in  that  conversation,  you  did  not  express  an  opinion 
that  you  did  not,  and  could  not  believe  that  a  lady  educated 
a<ad  delicate,  like  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  did,  or  would, 


THE   WAYS    OF  THE   HOUR.  265 

under  any  circumstances,  commit  the  offence  with  which 
Mary  Monson  is  charged  ?  " 

Hatfield  grew  more  and  more  confounded  ;  for  Williams's 
manner  was  more  and  more  confident  and  cool.  In  this 
state  of  feeling  he  suffered  the  reply  to  escape  him— 

"  I  may  have  said  as  much — it  seems  quite  natural." 

"  I  presume,  after  this,"  observed  Williams,  carelessly, 
"  your  honor  will,  order  the  juror  not  to  enter  the  box  ?  " 

"Not  so  fast — not  so  fast,  brother  Williams,"  put  in 
Timms,  who  felt  it  was  now  his  turn  to  say  a  word,  and 
who  was  thumbing  a  small  pocket-almanac  very  diligently 
the  while. 

"  This  discussion,  I  understand  the  learned  gentleman, 
took  place  in  the  juror's  store  ?  " 

"  It  did,  sir,"  was  the  answer — "  a  place  where  such  dis- 
cussions are  very  apt  to  occur.  Hook  and  White  loaf  half 
their  time  away  in  that  store." 

"All  quite  likely — very  likely  to  happen — Mr.  Hatfield, 
do  you  open  your  store  on  the  Sabbath  ?" 

"  Certainly  not — I  am  very  particular  to  do  nothing  of 
the  sort." 

"A  church-member,  I  suppose,  sir?" 

"An  undeserving  one,  sir." 

"  Never,  on  any  account,  in  the  practice  of  opening 
your  store  of  a  Sabbath,  I  understand  you  to  say  ? " 

"  Never,  except  in  cases  of  sickness.  We  must  all  re- 
spect the  wants  of  the  sick." 

"  Are  Hook  and  White  in  the  habit  of  loafing  about  on 
your  premises  of  a  Sunday  ? " 

"  Never — I  wouldn't  tolerate  it.  The  store  is  a  public 
place  on  a  week-day,  and  they  can  come  in  if  they  please  ; 
but  I  wouldn't  tolerate  such  visits  on  the  Sabbath." 

"  Yet,  if  the  court  please,  the  26th  of  last  May  happened 
to  fall  on  the  Sabbath  day  !  My  brother  Williams  forgot 
to  look  into  the  almanac  before  he  made  up  his  brief." 

Here  Timms  sat  down,  cocking  his  nose  still  higher, 
quite  certain  of  having  made  a  capital  hit  toward  his  views 
on  the  Senate,  though  he  actually  gained  nothing  for  the 
cause.  There  was  a  general  simper  in  the  audience  ;  and 
Williams  felt  that  he  had  lost  quite  as  much  as  his  op- 
ponent had  gained. 

"Well,  gentlemen,  time  is  precious — let  us  go  on,"  in- 
terposed the  judge.  "  Is  the  juror  to  enter  the  box  or  not  ? " 

"  I  trust  a  trifling  mistake  as  to  the.  day  of  the  month  is 
not  about  to  defeat  the  ends  of  justice,"  answered  Wil- 


266  THE   W 'AYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

liams,  raising  himself  higher  on  his  stilts,  as  he  found  him- 
self sinking  lower  in  his  facts.  "  I  put  it  on  the  26th  by  a 
miscalculation,  I  can  now  see.  It  was  probably  on  the  25th 
—Saturday  is  the  loafer's  holiday  ;  yes,  it  must  have  been 
on  Saturday  the  25th  that  the  conversation  took  place." 

"  Do  you  remember  this  fact,  juror  ?  " 

"  I  remember,  now  so  much  has  been  said  on  the  sub- 
ject," answered  Hatfield,  firmly,  "that  I  was  not  at  home 
at  all  between  the  20th  and  the  27th  of  May  last.  I  could 
have  held'no  such  conversation  on  the  25th  or  26th  of 
May  ;  nor  do  I  know  that  I  think  Mary  Monson  either  in- 
nocent or  guilty." 

As  all  this  was  true,  and  was  uttered  with  the  confidence 
of  truth,  it  made  an  impression  on  the  audience.  Wil- 
liams doubted  ;  for  so  fine  was  his  skill  in  managing  men, 
that  he  often  succeeded  in  gaining  jurors  by  letting  them 
understand  he  suspected  them  of  being  prejudiced  against 
his  case.  With  the  weak  and  vain,  this  mode  of  proceed- 
ing has  frequently  more  success  than  a  contrary  course  ; 
the  party  suspected  being  doubly  anxious  to  illustrate  his 
impartiality  in  his  verdict.  This  was  what  Williams,  and 
indeed  the  bar,  very  generally  calls  "  standing  so  erect  as 
to  lean  backward." 

"Mr.  Williams,"  said  the  judge,  "you  must  challenge 
peremptorily,  or  the  juror  will  be  received." 

"  No,  your  honor,  the  State  will  accept  the  juror;  I  now 
see  that  my  information  has  been  wrong." 

"  We  challenge  for  the  defence,"  said  Timms,  deciding 
on  the  instant,  on  the  ground  that  if  Williams  was  so  ready 
to  change  his  course  of  proceeding,  there  must  be  a  good 
reason  for  it.  "  Stand  aside,  juror." 

"  Peter  Bailey,"  called  the  clerk. 

No  objection  being  made,  Peter  Bailey  took  his  seat. 
The  two  next  jurors  were  also  received  unquestioned  ;  and 
it  only  remained  to  draw  the  twelfth  man.  This  was  so 
much  better  luck  than  commonly  happens  in  capital  cases, 
that  everybody  seemed  more  and  more  pleased,  as  if  all 
were  anxious  to  come  to  the  testimony.  The  judge  evi- 
dently felicitated  himself,  rubbing  his  hands  with  very 
great  satisfaction.  The  bar,  generally,  entered  into  his 
feelings  ;  for  it  helped  along  its  business. 

"  On  the  whole,"  observed  one  of  the  lawyers,  who  was 
in  extensive  practice,  speaking  to  another  at  his  side,  "  I 
would  as  soon  try  one  of  these  murder  cases  as  to  go 
through  with  a  good  water-cause." 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  267 

"  Oh  !  they  are  excruciating  !  Get  into  a  good  water> 
cause,  with  about  thirty  witnesses  on  a  side,  and  you  are  in 
for  a  week.  I  was  three  days  at  one,  only  last  circuit" 

"  Are  there  many  witnesses  in  this  case  ? " 

"  About  forty,  I  hear,"  glancing  toward  the  benches 
where  most  of  the  females  sat.  "  They  tell  me  there  will 
be  a  very  formidable  array  as  to  character.  Ladies  from 
York  by  the  dozen  !  " 

"They  will  be  wanted,  if  all  they  say  is  true." 

"  If  all  you  hear  is  true,  we  have  reached  a  ruew  epoch  in 
the  history  of  mankind.  I  have  never  seen  the  day  when 
half  of  that  I  hear  is  more  than  half  true.  I  set  the  rest 
down  as  *  leather  and  prunella.'  " 

"  Robert  Robinson,"  cried  the  clerk. 

A  respectable-looking  man  of  fifty  presented  himself, 
and  was  about  to  enter  the  box  without  stopping  to  ascer- 
tain whether  or  not  he  would  be  welcome  there.  This 
person  had  much  more  the  air  of  the  world  than  either  of 
the  other  jurors  ;  and  with  those  who  are  not  very  partic- 
ular, or  very  discriminating  in  such  matters,  might  readily 
enough  pass  for  a  gentleman.  He  was  neatly  dressed, 
wore  gloves,  and  had  certain  chains,  an  eyeglass,  and  other 
appliances  of  the  sort  that  it  is  not  usual  to  see  at  a  coun- 
try circuit.  Neither  Williams  nor  Timms  seemed  to  know 
the  juror  ;  but  each  looked  surprised  and  undecided  how 
he  ought  to  act.  The  peremptory  challenges  were  not 
exhausted  ;  and  there  was  a  common  impulse  in  the  two 
lawyers,  first  to  accept  one  so  respectable  in  mien,  and 
attire,  and  general  air  ;  and  then,  by  a  sudden  revolution 
of  feeling,  to  reject  one  of  whom  they  knew  nothing. 

"  I  suppose  the  summons  is  all  right,"  Williams  care- 
lessly  remarked.  "The  juror  resides  in  Dukes  ?" 

"  I  do,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Is  a  freeholder,  and  entitled  to  serve  ? " 

A  somewhat  supercilious  smile  came  over  the  counte- 
nance of  the  juror  ;  and  he  looked  round  at  the  person  who 
could  presume  to  make  such  a  remark,  with  something 
very  like  an  air  of  contempt. 

"  I  am  Doctor  Robinson,"  he  then  observed,  laying 
emphasis  on  his  learned  appellation. 

Williams  seemed  at  a  loss  ;  for,  to  say  the  truth,  he  had 
never  heard  of  any  such  physician  in  the  county.  Timms 
was  quite  as  much  mystified  ;  when  a  member  of  the  bar 
leaned  across  a  table,  and  whispered  to  Dunscomb  that  the 
juror  was  a  celebrated  quack,  who  made  pills  that  would 


268  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

cure  all  diseases  ;  and  who,  having  made  a  fortune,  had 
bought  a  place  in  the  county,  and  was  to  all  legal  purposes 
entitled  to  serve. 

"The  juror  can  stand  aside,"  said  Dunscomb,  rising  in 
his  slow  dignified  manner.  "If  it  please  the  court,  we 
challenge  peremptorily." 

Timms  looked  still  more  surprised  ;  and  when  told  the 
reason  for  the  course  taken  by  his  associate,  he  was  even 
sorry. 

"  The  man  is  a  quack"  said  Dunscomb,  "and  there  is 
quackery  enough  in  this  system  of  a  jury,  without  calling 
in  assistance  from  the  more  open  practitioners." 

"  I'm  afraid,  squire,  he  is  just  the  sort  of  man  we  want. 
I  can  work  on  such  spirits,  when  I  fail  altogether  with 
more  every-day  kind  of  men.  A  little  quackery  does  no 
harm  to  some  causes." 

"  Ira  Kingsland,"  called  out  the  clerk. 

Ira  Kingsland  appeared,  a  staid,  solid,  respectable  hus- 
bandman— one  of  those  it  is  a  mistaken  usage  of  the  coun- 
try to  term  yeomen  ;  and  of  a  class  that  contains  more  use- 
ful information,  practical  good  sense  and  judgment,  than 
might  be  imagined,  under  all  the  circumstances. 

As  no  objection  was  raised,  this  jure**  was  received,  and 
the  panel  was  complete.  After  cautioning  *he  jurors  about 
listening  and  talking,  in  the  usual  way,  the  jud^e  adjourned 
the  court  for  dinner. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

I  know  it  is  dreadful !     I  feel  the 

Anguish  of  thy  generous  soul — but  I  was  born 

To  murder  all  who  love  me.  —  George  BarnwelL 

DUNSCOMB  was  followed  to  his  room  by  Millington,  be- 
tween whom  and  himself,  John  Wilmeter  had  occasion  to 
remark,  a  sudden  intimacy  had  sprung  up.  The  counsel- 
lor had  always  liked  his  student,  or  he  would  never  have 
consented  to  give  him  his  niece  ;  but  it  was  not  usual  for 
him  to  hold  as  long,  or  seemingly  as  confidential  conversa- 
tions with  the  young  man,  as  now  proved  to  be  the  case. 
When  the  interview  was  over,  Millington  mounted  a  horse 
and  galloped  off,  in  the  direction  of  town,  in  that  almost 
exploded  manner  of  moving.  Time  was,  and  that  within 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE  HOUR.  264 

the  memory  of  man,  when  the  gentlemen  of  New  York 
were  in  their  saddles  hours  each  day  ;  but  all  this  is  chang- 
ing with  the  times.  We  live  in  an  age  of  buggies,  the  gig, 
phaeton,  and  curricle  having  disappeared,  and  the  utili- 
tarian vehicle  just  named  having  taken  their  places.  Were 
it  not  for  the  women,  who  still  have  occasion  for  closer 
carriages,  the  whole  nation  would  soon  be  riding  about  in 
buggies !  Beresford  is  made,  by  one  of  his  annotators,  to 
complain  that  everything  like  individuality  is  becoming 
lost  in  England,  and  that  the  progress  of  great  improve- 
ments must  be  checked,  or  independent  thinkers  will 
shortly  be  out  of  the  question.  If  this  be  true  of  England, 
what  might  not  be  said  on  the  same  subject  of  America  ? 
Here,  where  there  is  so  much  community  as  to  have  com- 
pletely ingulfed  everything  like  individual  thought  and  ac- 
tion, we  take  it  the  most  imitative  people  on  earth  are  to 
be  found.  This  truth  is  manifested  in  a  thousand  things. 
Every  town  is  getting  its  Broadway,  thus  defeating  the 
very  object  of  names  ;  to-day  the  country  is  dotted  with 
Grecian  temples,  to-morrow  with  Gothic  villages,  all  the 
purposes  of  domestic  architecture  being  sadly  forgotten  in 
each  ;  and,  as  one  of  the  Spensers  is  said  to  have  intro- 
duced the  article  of  dress  which  bears  his  name,  by  betting 
he  could  set  the  fashion  of  cutting  off  the  skirts  of  the 
coat,  so  might  one  who  is  looked  up  to,  in  this  country,  al- 
most set  the  fashion  of  cutting  off  the  nose. 

Dunscomb,  however,  was  a  perfectly  original  thinker. 
This  he  manifested  in  his  private  life,  as  well  as  in  his  pub- 
lic profession.  His  opinions  were  formed  in  his  own  way, 
and  his  acts  were  as  much  those  of  the  individual  as  cir- 
cumstances would  at  all  allow.  His  motives  in  dj^patch- 
ing  Millington  so  suddenly  to  town  were  known  to  him- 
self, and  will  probably  be  shown  to  the  reader,  as  the 
narrative  proceeds. 

"Well,  sir,  how  are  we  getting  on  ?"  asked  John  Wil- 
meter,  throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  in  his  uncle's  room, 
with  a  heated  and  excited  air.  "  I  hope  things  are  going 
to  your  mind  ?  " 

"  We  have  got  a  jury,  Jack,  and  that  is  all  that  can  be 
said  in  the  matter,"  returned  the  uncle,  looking  over  some 
papers  as  the  conversation  proceeded.  "It  is  good  prog- 
ress, in  a  capital  case,  to  get  a  jury  impanelled  in  the  first 
forenoon." 

"  You'll  have  the  verdict  in  by  this  time  to-morrow,  sir, 
I'm  afraid  ! " 


270  TJIE    /r.-M'.V    OF    77/A    //Of 'A'. 

11  Why,  afraid,  boy  ?  The  sooner  the  poor  woman  is  ac- 
quitted, the  better  it  will  be  for  her" 

"  Ay,  if  she  be  acquitted  ;  but  I  fear  everything  is  look- 
ing dark  in  the  case." 

"  And  this  from  you,  who  fancied  the  accused  an  angel 
of  light,  only  a  week  since  !  " 

"  She  is  certainly  a  most  fascinating  creature,  when  she 
chooses  to  be"  saicl  John,  with  emphasis  ;  "  but  she  does  not 
always  choose  to  appear  in  that  character." 

"  She  is  most  certainly  a  fascinating  creature,  when  she 
chooses  to  be  !  "  returned  the  uncle,  with  very  much  the  same 
sort  of  emphasis. 

But  Dunscomb's  manner  was  very  different  from  that  of 
his  nephew.  John  was  excited,  petulant,  irritable,  and  in 
a  state  to  feel  and  say  disagreeable  things  ;  dissatisfied  with 
himself,  and  consequently  not  very  well  pleased  with 
others.  A  great  change  had  come  over  his  feelings,  truly, 
within  the  last  week,  and  the  image  of  the  gentle  Anna 
Updyke  was  fast  taking  the  place  of  that  of  Mary  Monson. 
As  the  latter  seldom  saw  the  young  man,  and  then  only  at 
the  gate,  the  former  had  got  to  be  the  means  of  communica- 
tion between  the  youthful  advocate  and  his  client,  throwing 
them  constantly  in  each  other's  way.  On  such  occasions 
Anna  was  always  so  truthful,  so  gentle,  so  earnest,  so  nat- 
ural, and  so  sweetly  feminine,  that  John  must  have  been 
made  of  stone  to  remain  insensible  of  her  excellent  quali- 
ties. If  women  did  but  know  how  much  their  power,  not 
to  say  charms,  are  increased  by  gentleness,  by  tenderness 
in  lieu  of  coldness  of  manner,  by  keeping  within  the  nat- 
ural circle  of  their  sex's  feelings,  instead  of  aping  an  inde- 
pendence and  spirit  more  suited  to  men  than  to  their  own 
condition,  we  should  see  less  of  discord  in  domestic  life, 
happier  wives,  better  mothers,  and  more  reasonable  mis- 
tresses. No  one  knew  this  better  than  Dunscomb,  who  had 
not  been  an  indifferent  spectator  of  his  nephew's  course, 
and  who  fancied  this  a  favorable  moment  to  say  a  word  to 
him,  on  a  subject  that  he  felt  to  be  important. 

"This  choosing  to  be  is  a  very  material  item  in  the  female 
character,"  continued  the  counsellor,  after  a  moment  of 
silent  and  profound  thought.  "  Whatever  else  you  may 
do,  my  boy,  in  the  way  of  matrimony,  marry  a  gentle  and 
feminine  woman.  Take  my  word  for  it,  there  is  no  true 
happiness  with  any  other."" 

"  Women  have  their  tastes  and  caprices,  and  like  to  in 
dulge  them,  sir,  as  well  as  ourselves." 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  271 

"  All  that  may  be  true,  but  avoid  what  is  termed  a  wo- 
man of  independent  spirit  They  are  usually  so  many 
devils  incarnate.  If  they  happen  to  unite  moneyed  inde- 
pendence with  moral  independence,  I  am  not  quite  certain 
that  their  tyranny  is  not  worse  than  that  of  Nero.  A 
tyrannical  woman  is  worse  than  a  tyrannical  man,  because 
she  is  apt  to  be  capricious.  At  one  time  she  will  blow  hot, 
at  the  next  cold  ;  at  one  time  she  will  give,  at  the  next 
clutch  back  her  gifts  ;  to-day  she  is  the  devoted  and  obe- 
dient wife,  to-morrow  the  domineering  partner.  No,  no, 
Jack,  marry  a  woman ;  which  means  a  kind,  gentle,  affec- 
tionate, thoughtful  creature,  whose  heart  is  so  full  of  you, 
there  is  no  room  in  it  for  herself.  Marry  just  such  a  girl 
as  Anna  Updyke,  if  you  can  get  her." 

"I  thank  you,  sir,"  answered  John,  coloring.  "  I  dare 
say  the  advice  is  good,  and  I  shall  bear  it  in  mind.  What 
would  you  think  of  a  woman  like  Mary  Monson,  for  a 
wife  ? " 

Dunscomb  turned  a  vacant  look  at  his  nephew,  as  if  his 
thoughts  were  far  away,  and  his  chin  dropped  on  his 
bosom.  This  abstraction  lasted  but  a  minute,  however, 
when  the  young  man  got  his  answer. 

"Mary  Monson  is  a  wife,  and  I  fear  a  bad  one,"  returned 
the  counsellor.  "  If  she  be  the  woman  I  suppose  her  to  be, 
her  history,  brief  as  it  is,  is  a  very  lamentable  one.  John, 
you  are  my  sister's  son,  and  my  heir.  You  are  nearer  to 
me  than  any  other  human  being,  in  one  sense,  though  I 
certainly  love  Sarah  quite  as  well  as  I  do  you,  if  not  a  lit- 
tle better.  These  ties  of  feeling  are  strange  links  in  our 
nature  !  At  one  time  I  loved  your  mother  with  a  tender- 
ness such  as  a  father  might  feel  for  a  child  ;  in  short,  with 
a  brother's  love — a  brother's  love  for  a  young,  and  pretty, 
and  good  girl,  and  I  thought  I  could  never  love  another 
as  I  loved  Elizabeth.  She  returned  my  affection,  and  there 
was  a  period  of  many  years  when  it  was  supposed  that  we 
were  to  pass  down  the  vale  of  life  in  company,  as  brother 
and  sister — old  bachelor  and  old  maid.  Your  father  de- 
ranged all  this,  and  at  thirty-four  my  sister  left  me.  It 
was  like  pulling  my  heart-strings  out  of  me,  and  so  much 
Ihe  worse,  boy,  because  they  were  already  sore." 

John  started.  His  uncle  spoke  hoarsely,  and  a  shudder, 
that  was  so  violent  as  to  be  perceptible  to  his  companion, 
passed  through  his  frame.  The  cheeks  of  the  counsellor 
were  usually  colorless  ;  now  they  appeared  absolutely 
pallid 


272  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

"This,  then,"  thought  John  Wilmetcr,  "  is  the  insensible 
old  bachelor,  who  was  thought  to  live  altogether  for  him- 
self. How  little  does  the  world  really  know  of  what  is 
passing  within  it  !  Well  may  it  be  said,  '  There  is  a  skele- 
ton in  every  house.' " 

Dunscomb  soon  recovered  his  self-command.  Reaching 
forth  an  arm,  he  took  his  nephew's  hand,  and  said  affec- 
tionately— 

"  I  am  not  often  thus,  Jack,  as  you  must  know.  A  vivid 
recollection  of  days  that  have  long  been  past  came  freshly 
over  me,  and  I  believe  I  have  been  a  little  unmanned.  To 
you,  my  early  history  is  a  blank  ;  but  a  very  few  words  will 
serve  to  tell  you  all  you  need  ever  know.  I  was  about 
your  time  of  life,  Jack,  when  I  loved,  courted,  and  became 
engaged  to  Mary  Millington— Michael's  great-aunt.  Is 
this  new  to  you  ? " 

"Not  entirely,  sir  ;  Sarah  has  told  me  something  of  the 
same  sort — you  know  the  girls  get  hold  of  family  anecdotes 
sooner  than  we  men." 

"  She  then  probably  told  you  that  I  was  cruelly,  heart- 
lessly jilted  for  a  richer  man.  Mary  married,  and  left  one 
daughter  ;  who  also  married  early,  her  own  cousin,  Frank 
Millington,  the  cousin  of  Michael's  father.  You  may  now 
see  why  I  have  ever  felt  so  much  interest  in  your  future 
brother-in-law." 

"He  is  a  good  fellow,  and  quite  free  from  all  jilting 
blood.  I'll  answer  for  it.  But,  what  has  become  of  this 
Mrs.  Frank  Millington  ?  I  remember  no  such  person." 

"  Like  her  mother,  she  died  young,  leaving  an  only 
daughter  to  inherit  her  name  and  very  ample  fortune.  The 
reason  you  never  knew  Mr.  Frank  Millington  is  probably 
because  he  went  to  Paris  early,  where  he  educated  his 
daughter,  in  a  great  degree — there,  and  in  England — and 
when  he  died,  Mildred  Millington,  the  heiress  of  both 
parents,  is  said  to  have  had  quite  twenty  thousand  a  year. 
Certain  officious  friends  made  a  match  for  her,  I  have 
heard,  with  a  Frenchman  of  some  family,  but  small  means 
and  the  recent  revolution  had  driven  them  to  this  country, 
where,  as  I  have  been  told,  she  took  the  reins  of  domestic 
government  into  her  own  hands,  until  some  sort  of  a  sepa- 
ration has  been  the  consequence." 

"  Why  this  account  is  surprisingly  like  the  report  we 
have  had  concerning  Mary  Monson,  this  morning  !  "  cried 
Jack,  springing  to  his  feet  with  excitement. 

"  I  believe  her  to  be  the  same  person.    Many  things  unite 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  273 

io  create  this  opinion.  In  the  first  place,  there  is  certainly 
a  marked  family  resemblance  to  her  grandmother  and 
mother  ;  then  the  education,  manners,  languages,  money, 
Marie  Moulin,  and  the  initials  of  the  assumed  name,  each 
and  all  have  their  solution  in  this  belief.  The  '  Mademoi- 
selle '  and  the  *  Madame  '  of  the  Swiss  maid  are  explained  ; 
in  short,  if  we  can  believe  this  Mary  Monson  to  be  Madame 
de  Larcfcheforte,  we  can  find  an  explanation  of  everything 
that  is  puzzling  in  her  antecedents." 

"  But  why  should  a  woman  of  twenty  thousand  a  year  be 
living  in  the  cottage  of  Peter  Goodwin  ? " 

"  Because  she  is  a  woman  of  twenty  thousand  a  year. 
Monsieur  de  Larocheforte  found  her  money  was  altogether 
at  her  own  command,  by  this  new  law,  and  naturally 
enough,  he  desired  to  play  something  more  than  a.  pup- 
pet's part  in  his  own  abode  and  family.  The  lady  clings 
to  her  dollars,  which  she  loves  more  thai?  her  husband  ;  a 
quarrel  ensues,  and  she  chooses  to  retire  from  his  protec- 
tion, and  conceals  herself,  for  a  time,  under  Peter  Good- 
win's roof,  to  evade  pursuit.  Capricious  and  wrong-headed 
wTomen  do  a  thousand  strange  things,  and  thoughtless 
gabblers  often  sustain  them  in  what  they  do." 

"  This  is  rendering  the  marriage  tie  very  slight !  " 

"It  is  treating  it  with  contempt  ;  setting  at  naught  the 
laws  of  God  and  man — one's  duties  and  the  highest  obli- 
gations of  woman.  Still,  many  of  the  sex  fancy  if  they 
abstain  from  one  great  and  distinct  offence,  the  whole  cata- 
logue of  the  remaining  misdeeds  is  at  their  mercy." 

"  Not  to  the  extent  of  murder  and  arson,  surely  !  Why 
should  such  a  woman  commit  these  crimes  ?" 

"  One  never  knows.  We  are  fearfully  constituted,  John  : 
morally  and  physically.  The  fairest  form  often  conceals 
the  blackest  heart,  and  vice  versa.  But  I  am  now  satisfied 
that  there  is  a  vein  of  insanity  in  this  branch  of  the  Mil- 
lingtons  ;  and  it  is  possible  Madame  de  Larocheforte  is 
more  to  be  pitied  than  to  be  censured." 

"  You  surely  do  not  think  her  guilty,  Uncle  Tom  ?" 

The  counsellor  looked  intently  at  his  nephew,  shaded 
his  brow  a  moment,  gazed  upward,  and  answered — 

"I  do.  There  is  such  a  chain  of  proof  against  her  as  will 
scarce  admit  of  explanation.  I  am  afraid,  Jack — I  am 
afraid  that  she  has  done  these  deeds,  terrible  as  they  are  ! 
Such  has  been  my  opinion,  now,  for  some  time  ;  though 
my  mind  has  vacillated,  as  I  make  no  doubt  will  prove  to 
be  the  case  with  those  of  most  of  the  jurors.  It  is  a  sad 


274  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

alternative  •  but  I  see  no  safety  for  her  except  in  the  plea 
of  insanity.  I  am  in  hopes  that  something  may  be  made 
out  in  that  respect." 

"  We  are  quite  without  witnesses  to  the  point  ;  are  we 
not,  sir  ? " 

"  Certainly  ;  but  Michael  Millington  has  gone  to  town 
to  send  by  telegraph  for  the  nearest  connections  of 
Madame  de  Larocheforte,  who  are  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Philadelphia.  The  husband  himself  is  somewhere  on  the 
Hudson.  He  must  be  hunted  up  too.  Michael  will  see  to 
all  this.  I  shall  get  the  judge  to  adjourn  early  this  even- 
ing ;  and  we  must  spin  out  the  trial  for  the  next  day  or 
two,  in  order  to  collect  our  forces.  The  judge  is  young 
and  indulgent.  He  has  certain  ridiculous  notions  about 
saving  the  time  of  the  public  ;  but  does  not  feel  secure 
enough  in  his  seat  to  be  very  positive." 

At  this  instant  Timms  burst  into  the  room,  in  a  high 
state  of  excitement,  exclaiming,  the  moment  he  was  sure 
that  his  words  would  not  reach  any  hostile  ears — 

"  Our  case  is  desperate  !  All  the  Burtons  are  coming 
out  dead  against  us  ;  and  neither  *  the  new  philanthropy,' 
nor  '  Friends,'  nor  '  anti-gallows,'  can  save  us.  I  never 
knew  excitement  get  up  so  fast.  It  is  the  infernal  aristoc- 
racy that  kills  us  !  Williams  makes  great  use  of  it ;  and 
our  people  will  not  stand  aristocracy.  See  what  a  mag- 
nanimous report  to  the  legislature  the  learned  attorney- 
general  has  just  made  on  the  subject  of  aristocracy.  How 
admirably  he  touches  up  the  kings  and  countesses  ! " 

"  Pshaw  !  "  exclaimed  Dunscomb,  with  a  contemptuous 
curl  of  the  lip — "not  one  in  a  thousand  knows  the  mean- 
ing of  the  word  ;  and  he  among  the  rest.  The  report  you 
mention  is  that  of  a  refined  gentleman,  to  be  sure,  and  is 
addressed  to  his  equals.  What  exclusive  political  privilege 
does  Mary  Monson  possess  ?  or  what  does  the  patroon,  un- 
less it  be  the  privilege  of  having  more  stolen  from  him,  by 
political  frauds,  than  any  other  man  in  the  State  ?  This 
cant  about  social  aristocracy,  even  in  a  state  of  society  in 
which  the  servant  deserts  his  master  with  impunity,  in  the 
midst  of  a  dinner,  is  very  miserable  stuff!  Aristocracy, 
forsooth !  If  there  be  aristocracy  in  America,  the  black- 
guard is  the  aristocrat.  Away,  then,  with  all  this  trash, 
and  speak  common-sense  in  future." 

"  You  amaze  me,  sir !  Why  I  regard  you  as  a  sort  of 
aristocrat,  Mr.  Dunscomb." 

"  Me !  And  what  do  you  see  aristocratic  about  me,  pray  ?  * 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  275 

"Why,  sir,  you  don't  look  like  the  rest  of  us.  Your  very 
walk  is  different — your  language,  manners,  dress,  habits 
and  opinions,  all  differ  from  those  of  the  Dukes  County 
bar.  Now,  to  my  notion,  that  is  being  exclusive  and 
peculiar  ;  and  whatever  is  peculiar  is  aristocratic,  is  it 
not  ? " 

Here  Dunscomb  and  his  nephew  burst  out  in  a  laugh  ; 
and,  for  a  few  minutes,  Mary  Monson  was  forgotten. 
Timms  was  quite  in  earnest  ;  for  he  had  fallen  into  the 
every-day  notions,  in  this  respect,  and  it  was  not  easy  to 
get  him  out  of  them. 

"  Perhaps  the  Dukes  County  bar  contains  the  aristocrats, 
and  I  am  the  serf  !  "  said  the  counsellor. 

"  That  cannot  be — you  must  be  the  aristocrat,  if  any 
there  be  among  us.  I  don't  know  why  it  is  so,  but  so  it  is; 
yes,  you  are  the  aristocrat,  if  there  be  one  at  our  bar." 

Jack  smiled,  and  looked  funny,  but  he  had  the  discre- 
tion to  hold  his  tongue.  He  had  heard  that  a  Duke  of 
Norfolk,  the  top  of  the  English  aristocracy,  was  so  re- 
markable for  his  personal  habits  as  actually  to  be  offen- 
sive ;  a  man  who,  according  to  Timms's  notions,  would 
have  been  a  long  way  down  the  social  ladder  ;  but  who, 
nevertheless,  was  a  top  peer,  if  not  a  top  sawyer.  It  was 
jasy  to  see  that  Timms  confounded  a  gentleman  with  an 
aristocrat  ;  a  confusion  in  ideas  that  is  very  common,  and 
which  is  far  from  being  unnatural,  when  it  is  remembered 
how  few  formerly  acquired  any  of  the  graces  of  deport- 
ment who  had  not  previously  attained  positive,  exclusive, 
political  rights.  As  for  the  attorney-general  and  his  re- 
port, Jack  had  sufficient  sagacity  to  see  it  was  a  document 
that  said  one  thing  and  meant  another  ;  professing  defer- 
ence for  a  people  that  it  did  not  stop  to  compliment  with 
the  possession  of  either  common  honesty  or  good  man- 
ners. 

"  I  hope  my  aristocracy  is  not  likely  to  affect  the  inter- 
ests of  my  client." 

"  No  ;  there  is  little  danger  of  that.  It  is  the  democracy 
of  the  Burtons  which  will  do  that.  I  learn  from  Johnson 
that  they  are  coming  out  stronger  and  stronger  ;  and  I 
feel  certain  Williams  is  sure  of  their  testimony.  By  the 
way,  sir,  I  had  a  hint  from  him,  as  we  left  the  court-house, 
that  the  five  thousand  dollars  might  jW  take  him  from  the 
field." 

"This  Mr.  Williams,  as  well  as  yourself,  Timms,  must  be 
more  cautious,  or  the  law  will  yet  assert  its  power.  It  is 


^76  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

very  much  humbled,  I  am  aware,  under  the  majesty  of  the 
people  and  a  feeble  administration  of  its  authority  ;  but 
its  arm  is  long,  and  its  gripe  potent,  when  it  chooses  to  ex- 
ert its  force.  Take  my  advice,  and  have  no  more  to  do 
with  such  arrangements." 

The  dinner-bell  put  an  end  to  the  discussion.  Timms 
yanished  like  a  ghost ;  but  Dunscomb,  whose  habits  were 
gentleman-like,  and  who  knew  that  Mrs.  Horton  had  as- 
signed a  particular  seat  to  him,  moved  more  deliberately  ; 
following  his  nephew  about  the  time  Timms  was  half 
through  the  meal. 

An  American  tavern-dinner,  during  the  sitting  of  the 
circuit,  is  every  way  worthy  of  a  minute  and  graphic 
description  ;  but  our  limits  will  hardly  admit  of  our  as- 
suming the  task.  If  "  misery  makes  a  man  acquainted 
with  strange  bed-fellows,"  so  does  the  law.  Judges,  advo- 
cates, witnesses,  sheriffs,  clerks,  constables,  and  not  unfre- 
quently  the  accused,  dine  in  common,  with  railroad  speed. 
The  rattling  of  knives,  forks,  and  spoons,  the  clatter  of 
plates,  the  rushing  of  waiters,  landlord,  landlady,  chamber- 
maids, hostler  and  -barkeeper  included,  produce  a  confu- 
sion that  would  do  honor  to  the  most  profound  "  republi- 
can simplicity."  Everything  approaches  a  state  of  nature 
but  the  eatables  ;  and  they  are  invariably  overdone.  On 
an  evil  day  some  Yankee  invented  an  article  termed  a 
"cooking-stove  ;"  and  since  its  appearance  everything  like 
good  cookery  has  vanished  from  the  common  American 
table.  There  is  plenty  spoiled,  abundance  abused.  Of 
made  dishes,  with  the  exception  of  two  or  three  of  very 
simple  characters,  there  never  were  any ;  and  these  have 
been  burned  to  cinders  by  the  baking  processes  of  the 
"cook-stoves." 

It  matters  little,  however,  to  the  convives  of  a  circuit- 
court  dinner,  what  the  dishes  are  called,  or  of  what  they 
are  composed.  " Haste  "  forbids  "taste  ;"  and  it  actually 
occurred  that  day,  as  it  occurs  almost  invariably  on  such 
occasions,  that  a  very  clever  country  practitioner  was  asked 
the  materiel  of  the  dish  he  had  been  eating,  and  he  could 
not  tell  it !  Talk  of  the  mysteries  of  French  cookery ! 
The  "cook-stove"  produces  more  mystery  than  all  the  art 
of  all  the  culinary  artists  of  Paris  ;  and  this,  too,  on  a 
principle  that  tallies  admirably  with  that  of  the  purest 
"  republican  simplicity  ;  "  since  it  causes  all  things  to  taste 
alike. 

To  a  dinner  of  this  stamp  Dunscomb  now  sat  down,  just 


THE   W 'AYS   01'    THE    HOUR.  273 

ten  minutes  after  the  first  clatter  of  a  plate  was  heard,  and 
just  as  the  only  remove  was  seen,  in  the  form  of  slices  of 
pie,  pudding,  and  cake.  With  his  habits,  railroad  speed, 
or  lightning-like  eating  could  find  no  favor  ;  and  he  and 
Jack  got  their  dinner,  as  best  they  might,  amid  the  con- 
fusion and  remnant  of  the  close  of  such  a  repast.  Nine- 
tenths  of  those  who  had  so  lately  been  at  work  as  trencher- 
men were  now  picking  their  teeth,  smoking  cigars,  or  pre- 
paring fresh  quids  for  the  afternoon.  A  few  clients  were 
already  holding  their  lawyers  by  the  button  ;  and  here  and 
there  one  of  the  latter  led  the  way  to  his  room  to  "  settle  " 
some  slander  cause  in  which  the  plaintiff  had  got  frightened. 

It  is  a  bad  sign  when  eating  is  carried  on  without  con- 
versation. To  converse,  however,  at  such  a  table,  is,  mor- 
ally if  not  physically,  impossible.  Morally,  because  each 
man's  mind  is  so  intent  on  getting  as  much  as  he  wants 
that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  bring  his  thoughts  to  bear 
on  any  other  subject  ;  physically,  on  account  of  the  clat- 
ter, a  movement  in  which  an  eclipse  of  a  plate  by  the  body 
of  a  waiter  is  no  unusual  thing,  and  universal  activity  of 
the  teeth.  Conversation  under  such  circumstances  would 
be  truly  a  sort  of  ventriloquism  ;  the  portion  of  the  hu- 
man frame  included  in  the  term  being  all  in  all  just  at  that 
moment. 

Notwithstanding  those  embarrassments  and  unpleasant 
accompaniments,  Dunscomb  and  his  nephew  got  their  din- 
ners, and  were  about  to  quit  the  table  as  McBrain  entered. 
The  doctor  would  not  expose  his  bride  to  the  confusion  of 
the  common  table,  where  there  was  so  much  that  is  revolt- 
ing to  all  trained  in  the  usages  of  good  company,  singularly 
blended  with  a  decency  of  deportment,  and  a  considera- 
tion for  the  rights  of  each,  that  serve  to  form  bright  spots 
in  American  character  ;  but  he  had  obtained  a  more  pri- 
vate room  for  the  females  of  his  party. 

"We  should  do  pretty  well,"  observed  McBrain,  in  ex- 
plaining his  accommodations,  "were  it  not  for  a  trouble- 
some neighbor  in  an  adjoining  room,  who  is  either  insane 
or  intoxicated.  Mrs.  Horton  has  put  us  in  your  wing, 
and  I  should  think  you  must  occasionally  hear  from  him 
too  ?  " 

"  The  man  is  constantly  drunk,  they  tell  me,  and  is  a 
little  troublesome  at  times.  On  the  whole,  however,  he 
does  not  annoy  me  much.  I  shall  take  the  liberty  of  din- 
ing with  you  to-morrow,  Ned  ;  this  eating  against  time 
does  not  agree  with  my  constitution." 


278  THE  WAYS   OF   T77F.   HOUR. 

"To-morrow!  I  was  thinking  that  my  examination 
would  be  ended  this  afternoon,  and  that  we  might  returr? 
to  town  in  the  morning.  You  will  remember  I  have  pa- 
tients to  attend  to." 

"  You  will  have  more  reason  for  patience.  If  you  get 
through  in  a  week,  you  will  be  lucky." 

"  It  is  a  curious  case  !  I  find  all  the  local  faculty  ready 
to  swear  through  thick  and  thin  against  her.  My  own 
opinion  is  fixed — but  what  is  the  opinion  of  one  man 
against  those  of  several  in  the  same  profession  ?" 

"We  will  put  that  question  to  Mrs.  Horton,  who  is  com- 
ing to  ask  how  we  have  dined.  Thank'ee,  my  good  Mrs. 
Horton,  we  have  done  remarkably  well,  considering  all  the 
circumstances." 

The  landlady  was  pleased,  and  smirked,  and  expressed 
her  gratification.  The  sous  cnlendu  of  Dunscomb  was  lost 
upon  her  :  and  human  vanity  is  very  apt  to  accept  the  flat- 
tering, and  to  overlook  the  disagreeable.  She  was  pleased 
that  the  great  York  lawyer  was  satisfied. 

Mrs.  Horton  was  an  American  landlady,  in  the  strictest 
sense  of  the  \vord.  This  implies  many  features  distinct 
from  her  European  counterpart ;  some  of  which  tell  greatly 
in  her  favor,  and  others  not  so  much  so.  Decency  of  exte- 
rior, and  a  feminine  deportment,  are  so  characteristic"  of 
the  sex  in  this  country,  that  they  need  scarcely  be  adverted 
to.  There  were  no  sly  jokes,  no  doubles  entendres  with  Mrs. 
Horton  ;  who  maintained  too  grave  a  countenance  to  admit 
of  such  liberties.  Then,  she  was  entirely  free  from  the  lit- 
tle expedients  of  a  desire  to  gain  that  are  naturally  enough 
adopted  in  older  communities,  where  the  pressure  of  num- 
bers drives  the  poor  to  their  wits'  end  in  order  to  live. 
American  abundance  had  generated  American  liberality 
in  Mrs.  Horton  ;  and  if  one  of  her  guests  asked  for  bread, 
she  would  give  him  the  loaf.  She  was,  moreover,  what  the 
country  round  termed  "accommodating;"  meaning  that 
she  was  obliging  and  good-natured.  Her  faults  were  a 
fierce  love  of  gossip,  concealed  under  a  veil  of  great  indif- 
ference and  modesty,  a  prying  curiosity,  and  a  determina- 
tion to  know  everything  touching  everybody  who  ever 
came  under  her  roof.  This  last  propensity  had  got  her 
into  difficulties,  several  injurious  reports  having  been 
traced  to  her.  tongue,  which  was  indebted  to  her  imagina- 
tion for  fully  one-half  of  what  she  had  circulated.  It  is 
scarcely  necessary  to  add,  that,  among  the  right  set,  Mrs. 
Horton  was  a  great  talker.  As  Dunscomb  was  a  favorite 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  279 

he  was  not  likely  to  escape  on  the  present  occasion  ;  the 
room  being  clear  of  all  the  guests  but  those  of  his  own 
party. 

"I  am  glad  to  get  a  little  quiet  talk  with  you,  Squire 
Dunscomb,"  the  landlady  commenced;  "for  a  body  can 
depend  on  what  is  heard  from  such  authority.  Do  they 
mean  to  hang  Mary  Monson  ?" 

"  It  is  rather  premature  to  ask  that  question,  Mrs.  Hor- 
ton.  The  jury  is  impanelled,  and  there  we  stand  at  present." 

"  Is  it  a  good  jury  ?  Some  of  our  Dukes  County  juries 
are  none  too  good,  they  tell  me." 

"  The  whole  institution  is  a  miserable  contrivance  for  the 
administration  of  justice.  Could  a  higher  class  of  citizens 
compose  the  juries,  the  system  might  still  do,  with  a  few 
improvements." 

"Why  not  elect  them?"  demanded  the  landlady,  who 
was,  ex  officio,  a  politician,  much  as  women  are  usually  poli- 
ticians in  this  country.  In  other  words,  she/<?//  her  opin- 
ions, without  knowing  their  reasons. 

"  God  forbid,  my  good  Mrs.  Horton — we  have  elective 
judges  ;  that  will  do  for  the  present.  Too  much  of  a  good 
thing  is  as  injurious  as  the  positively  bad.  I  prefer  the 
present  mode  of  drawing  lots." 

"Have  you  got  a  Quaker  in  the  box  ?  If  you  have,  you 
are  safe  enough." 

'"I  doubt  if  the  district  attorney  would  suffer  that  ;  al- 
though he  appears  to  be  kind  and  considerate.  The  man 
who  goes  into  that  box  must  be  prepared  to  hang  if  neces- 
sary." 

"  For  my  part,  I  wish  all  hanging  was  done  away  with. 
I  can  see  no  good  that  hanging  can  do  a  man." 

"You  mistake  the  object,  my  dear  Mrs.  Horton,  though 
your  argument  is  quite  as  good  as  many  that  are  openly 
advanced  on  the  same  side  of  the  question." 

"Just  hear  me,  squire,"  rejoined  the  woman;  for  she 
loved  dearly  to  get  into  a  discussion  on  any  question  that 
she  was  accustomed  to  hear  debated  among  her  guests. 
"  The  country  hangs  a  body  to  reform  a  body  ;  and  what 
good  can  that  do  when  a  body  is  dead  ? " 

"Very  ingeniously  put,"  returned  the  counsellor,  politely 
offering  his  box  to  the  landlady,  who  took  a  few  grains , 
and  then  deliberately  helping  himself  to  a  pinch  of  snuff — 
"quite  as  ingeniously  as  much  of  the  argument  that  ap- 
pears in  public.  The  objection  lies  to  the  premises,  and 
not  to  the  deduction,  which  is  absolutely  logical  and  just. 


2 So  THE    WAYS    OF    THE   HOTR. 

A  hanged  body  is  certainly  an  unreformed  body  ;  and, 
as  you  say,  it  is  quite  useless  to  hang  in  order  to  re- 
form." 

"There!"  exclaimed  the  woman  in  triumph — "I  told 
Squire  Timms  that  a  gentleman  who  knows  as  much  as 
you  do  must  be  on  our  side.  Depend  on  one  thing,  Law- 
yer Dunscomb,  and  you  too,  gentlemen — depend  on  it,  that 
Mary  Monson  will  never  be  hanged." 

This  was  said  with  a  meaning  so  peculiar,  that  it  struck 
Dunscomb,  who  watched  the  woman's  earnest  countenance 
while  she  was  speaking,  with  undeviating  interest  and  in- 
tensity. 

'It  is  my  duty  and  my  wish,  Mrs.  Horton,  to  believe  as 
much,  and  to  make  others  believe  it  also,  if  I  can,"  he  an- 
swered, now  anxious  to  prolong  a  discourse  that  a  moment 
before  he  had  found  tiresome. 

"  You  can,  if  you  will  only  try.  I  believe  in  dreams — 
and  I  dreamt  a  week  ago  that  Mary  Monson  would  be  ac- 
quitted. It  would  be  ag'in  all  our  new  notions  to  hang  so 
nice  a  lady." 

"  Our  tastes  might  take  offence  at  it ;  and  taste  is  of  some 
influence  yet,  I  am  bound  to  agree  with  you." 

"  But  you  do  agree  with  me  in  the  uselessness  of  hang- 
ing, when  the  object  is  to  reform  ?  " 

"  Unfortunately  for  the  force  of  that  argument,  my  dear 
landlady,  society  does  not  punish  for  the  purposes  of  refor- 
mation— that  is  a  very  common  blunder  of  superficial 
philanthropists." 

"  Not  for  the  purpose  of  reformation,  squire  !  You  as- 
tonish me  !  Why,  for  what  else  should  it  punish  ?  " 

"  For  its  own  protection.  To  prevent  others  from  com- 
mitting murder.  Have  you  no  other  reason  than  your 
dream,  my  good  Mrs.  Horton,  for  thinking  Mary  Monson 
will  be  acquitted  ?  " 

The  woman  put  on  a  knowing  look,  and  nodded  her 
head  significantly.  At  the  same  time,  she  glanced  toward 
the  counsellor's  companions,  as  much  as  to  say  that  their 
presence  prevented  her  being  more  explicit. 

"Ned,  do  me  the  favor  to  go  to  your  wife,  and  tell  her 
I  shall  stop  in,  and  say  a  kind  word  as  I  pass  her  door ; — 
and,  Jack,  go  and  bid  Sarah  be  in  Mrs.  McBrain's  parlor, 
ready  to  give  me  my  morning's  kiss." 

The  doctor  and  John  complied,  leaving  Dunscomb  alone 
with  the  woman. 

"  May  I  repeat  the  question,  my  good  landlady  ?    Why 


THE   WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  281 

do  you  think  Mary  Monson  is  to  be   acquitted?"  asked 
Dunscomb,  in  one  of  his  softest  tones. 

Mrs.  Horton  mused,  seemed  anxious  to  speak,  but  strug- 
gling with  some  power  that  withheld  her.  One  of  her 
hands  was  in  a  pocket  where  the  jingling  of  keys  and  pence 
made  its  presence  known.  Drawing  forth  this  hand  me- 
chanically, Dunscomb  saw  that  it  contained  several  eagles. 
The  woman  cast  her  eyes  on  the  gold,  returned  it  hastily 
to  her  pocket,  rubbed  her  forehead,  and  seemed  the  wary, 
prudent  landlady  once  more. 

"  I  hope  you  like  your  room,  squire  ? "  she  cried,  in  a 
thoroughly  inn-keeping  spirit.  "  It's  the  very  best  in  this 
house  ;  though  I'm  obliged  to  tell  Mrs.  McBrain  the  same 
story  as  to  her  apartment.  But  you  have  the  best.  You 
have  a  troublesome  neighbor  between  you,  I'm  afraid  ; 
but  he'll  not  be  there  many  days,  and  I  do  all  I  can  to 
keep  him  quiet." 

"Is  that  man  crazy?"  asked  the  counsellor,  rising,  per- 
ceiving that  he  had  no  more  to  expect  from  the  woman 
just  then  ;  "or  is  he  only  drunk  ?  I  hear  him  groan,  and 
then  I  hear  him  swear  ;  though  I  cannot  understand  what 
he  says." 

"  He's  sent  here  by  his  friends  ;  and  your  wing  is  the 
only  place  we  have  to  keep  him  in.  When  a  body  is  well 
paid,  squire,  I  suppose  you  know  that  the  fee  must  not  be 
forgotten  ?  Now,  inn-keepers  have  fees,  as  well  as  you 
gentlemen  of  the  bar.  How  wonderfully  Timms  is  getting 
along,  Mr.  Dunscomb  !  " 

"  I  believe  his  practice  increases  ;  and  they  tell  me  he 
stands  next  to  Mr.  Williams  in  Dukes." 

"  He  does,  indeed  ;  and  a  'bright  particular  star,'  as  the 
poet  says,  has  he  got  to  be  !  " 

"  If  he  be  a  star  at  all,"  answered  the  counsellor,  curling 
his  lips,  "it  must  be  a  very  particular  one,  indeed.  I  am 
sorry  to  leave  you,  Mrs.  Horton  ;  but  the  intermission  is 
nearly  up." 

Dunscomb  gave  a  little  friendly  no'd,  which  the  landlady 
returned  ;  the  former  went  his  way  with  singular  coolness  • 
of  manner,  when  it  is  remembered  that  on  him  rested  the 
responsibility  of  defending  a  fellow-creature  from  the  gal- 
lows. What  rendered  this  deliberation  more  remarkable, 
was  the  fact  that  he  had  no  faith  in  the  virtue  of  Mrs 
Horton's  dream. 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Wilt  thou  behold  me  sinking  in  my  woes, 
And  wilt  thou  not  reach  out  a  friendly  arm, 
To  raise  me  from  amidst  this  plunge  of  sorrow  ? 

— ADDISON. 

"  CALL  the  names  of  the  jurors,  Mr.  Clerk,"  said  the 
judge.  "Mr.  Sheriff,  I  do  not  see  the  prisoner  in  her 
place." 

This  produced  a  stir.  The  jurors  were  called,  and  an- 
swered to  their  names  ;  and  shortly  after  Mary  Monson 
appeared.  The  last  was  accompanied  by  the  ladies,  who 
might  now  be  said  to  belong  to  her  party,  though  no  one 
but  herself  and  Marie  Moulin  came  within  the  bar. 

There  was  profound  stillness  in  the  hall,  for  it  was  felt 
that  now  the  issue  of  life  or  death  was  actually  approach- 
ing. Mary  Monson  gazed,  not  \vith  disquietude,  but  in- 
terest, at  the  twelve  men  who  were  to  decide  on  her  in- 
nocence or  guilt — men  of  habits  and  opinions  so  differ- 
ent from  her  own — men  so  obnoxious  to  prejudices  against 
those  whom  the  accidents  of  life  had  made  objects  of  envy 
or  hatred — men  too  much  occupied  with  the  cares  of  exist- 
ence to  penetrate  the  arena  of  thought,  and  who  conse- 
quently held  their  opinions  at  the  mercy  of  others — men 
unskilled,  because  without  practice,  in  the  very  solemn  and 
important  office  now  imposed  on  them  by  the  law — men 
who  might  indeed  be  trusted,  so  long  as  they  would  defer 
to  the  court  and  reason,  but  who  were  terrible  and  dan- 
gerous, when  they  listened,  as  is  too  apt  to  be  the  case,  to 
the  suggestions  of  their  own  impulses,  ignorance  and  prej- 
udice. Yet  these  men  were  Mary  Monson's  peers,  .in  the 
eyes  of  the  law — would  have  been  so  viewed  and  accepted 
in  a  case  involving  the  feelings  and  practices  of  social 
caste,  about  which  they  knew  absolutely  nothing,  or,  what 
is  worse  than  nothing,  a  very  iittle  through  the  medium  of 
misrepresentation  and  mistaken  conclusions. 

It  is  the  fashion  to  extol  the  institution  of  the  jury.  Our 
own  experience,  by  no  means  trifling,  as  foreman,  as  suit- 
or, and  as  a  disinterested  spectator,  does  not  lead  us  to 
coincide  in  this  opinion.  A  narrative  of  the  corrupt,  mis- 
guided, partial,  prejudiced,  or  ignorant  conduct  that  we 
have  ourselves  witnessed  in  these  bodies,  would  make  a 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  283 

legend  of  its  own.  The  power  that  most  misleads  such 
men  is  one  unseen  by  themselves,  half  the  time,  and  is  con- 
sequently so  much  the  more  dangerous.  The  feelings  of 
neighborhood,  political  hostility,  or  party  animosities,  are 
among  the  commonest  evils  that  justice  has  to  encounter, 
when  brought  in  contact  with  tribunals  thus  composed. 
Then  come  the  feelings  engendered  by  social  castes,  an  in- 
exhaustible source  of  evil  passions.  Mary  Monson  had 
been  told  of  the  risks  she  ran  from  that  source  ;  though 
she  had  also  been  told,  and  with  great  truth,  that  so  much 
of  the  spirit  of  God  still  remains  in  the  hearts  and  minds 
of  men,  as  to  render  a  majority  of  those  who  were  to  be  the 
arbiters  of  her  fate  conscientious  and  careful  in  a  capital 
case.  Perhaps,  as  a  rule,  the  singularity  of  his  situation, 
with  a  man  who  finds  himself,  for  the  first  time,  sitting  as 
a  juror  in  a  trial  for  a  human  life,  is  one  of  the  most  avail- 
able correctives  of  his  native  tendencies  to  do  evil. 

"  Mr.  District  Attorney,  are  you  ready  to  proceed?"  in- 
quired the  judge. 

This  functionary  rose,  bowed  to  the  court  and  jury,  and 
commenced  his  opening.  His  manner  was  unpretend- 
ing, natural,  and  solemn.  Although  high  talent  and  or- 
iginal thought  are  very  rare  in  this  country,  as  they  are 
everywhere  else,  there  is  a  vast  fund  of  intellect  of  a  sec- 
ondary order  ever  at  the  command  of  the  public.  The 
district  attorney  of  Dukes  was  a  living  witness  of  this  truth. 
He  saw  all  within  his  reach  clearly,  and,  possessing  great 
experience,  he  did  his  duty,  on  this  occasion,  in  a  very 
creditable  manner.  No  attempt  was  made  to  awaken  prej- 
udice of  any  sort  against  the  accused.  She  was  presented 
by  the  grand  inquest,  and  it  was  his  and  their  painful  duty, 
including  his  honor  on  the  bench,  to  investigate  this 
matter,  and  make  a  solemn  decision,  on  their  oaths.  Mary 
Monson  was  entitled  to  a  fair  hearing,  to  all  the  advantages 
that  the  lenity  of  the  criminal  law  of  a  very  humane  state 
of  society  could  afford,  and  for  "  God's  sake  let  her  be  ac- 
quitted should  the  State  fail  to  establish  her  guilt ! " 

Mr.  District  Attorney  then  proceeded  to  give  a  narrative 
of  the  events  as  he  supposed  them  to  have  occurred.  He 
spoke  of  the  Goodwins  as  "poor,  but  honest"  people,  a  sort 
of  illustration  that  is  in  much  favor,  and  deservedly  so, when 
true.  "It  seems,  gentlemen,"  the  district  attorney  con- 
tinued, "  that  the  wife  had  a  propensity,  or  a  fancy,  to 
collect  gold  pieces,  no  doubt  as  a  store  against  the  wants 
of  age.  This  money  was  kept  in  a  stocking,  according  to 


284  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

the  practice  of  country  ladies,  and  was  often  exhibited  to 
the  neighbors.  We  may  have  occasion,  gentlemen,  to  show 
you  that  some  fifteen  or  twenty  persons,  at  different  times, 
have  seen  and  handled  this  gold.  You  need  not  be  told 
what  natural  curiosity  is,  but  must  all  know  how  closely 
persons  little  accustomed  to  see  money  of  this  sort  would 
be  apt  to  examine  the  more  rare  pieces  in  particular.  There 
happened  to  be  several  of  these  pieces  among  the  gold  of 
Mrs.  Goodwin  ;  and  one  of  them  was  an  Italian  or  Dutch 
coin,  of  the  value  of  four  dollars,  which  commonly  goes 
by  the  name  of  the  king  whose  likeness  is  on  the  piece. 
This  Dutch  or  Italian  coin,  no  matter  which,  or  William, 
was  seen,  and  handled,  and  examined,  by  several  persons, 
as  we  shall  show  you. 

"Now,  gentlemen,  the  stocking  that  contained  the  gold 
coins  was  kept  in  a  bureau,  which  bureau  was  saved  from 
the  fire,  with  all  its  contents  ;  but  the  stocking  and  the 
gold  were  missing  !  These  facts  will  be  shown  to  you  by 
proof  that  puts  them  beyond  a  perad venture.  We  shall 
next  show  to  you,  gentlemen,  that  on  a  public  examination 
of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  the  contents  of  her  purse  were 
laid  open,  and  the  Dutch  or  Italian  coin  I  have  mentioned 
was  found,  along  with  more  than  a  hundred  dollars  of  other 
pieces,  which,  being  in  American  coin,  can  not  so  readily 
be  identified. 

"The  prosecution  relies,  in  a  great  degree,  on  the  proof 
that  will  be  offered  in  connection  with  this  piece  of  money, 
to  establish  the  guilt  of  the  prisoner.  We  are  aware  that, 
when  this  piece  of  money  was  found  on  her  person,  she 
affirmed  it  was  hers  ;  that  she  had  been  possessed  of  two 
such  pieces,  and  that  the  one  seen  in  Mrs.  Goodwin's  stock- 
ing had  been  a  present  from  herself  to  that  unfortunate 
woman. 

"  Gentlemen,  if  persons  accused  of  crimes  would  vin- 
dicate themselves  by  their  own  naked  statements,  there 
would  be  very  few  convictions.  Reason  tells  us  that  proof 
must  be  met  by  proof.  Assertions  will  not  be  received  as 
against  the  accused,  nor  will  they  be  taken  in  her  favor. 
Your  own  good  sense  will  tell  you,  gentlemen,  that  if  it  be 
shown  that  Dorothy  Goodwin  possessed  this  particular 
piece  of  gold,  valued  it  highly,  and  was  in  the  practice  of 
hoarding  all  the  gold  she  could  lay  her  hands  on  lawfully; 
that  the  said  Dorothy  Goodwin's  residence  was  burned, 
she  herself  murdered  by  a  savage  and  cruel  blow  or  blows 
t>n  the  occiput  or  head  ^  that  Mary  Monson,  the  prisoner 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  285 

at  the  bar,  knew  of  the  existence  of  this  little  stock  of  gold 
coins,  had  seen  it,  handled  it,  and  doubtless  coveted  it ;  re- 
siding in  the  same  house,  with  easy  access  to  the  bedside 
of  the  unhappy  couple,  with  easy  access  to  the  bureau,  to 
the  keys  which  opened  that  bureau,  for  its  drawers  were 
found  locked,  just  as  Mrs.  Goodwin  was  in  the  habit  of 
leaving  them  ;  but,  gentlemen,  if  all  this  be  shown  to  you, 
and  we  then  trace  the  aforesaid  piece  of  coin  to  the  pocket 
of  Mary  Monson,  we  make  out  a prima  facie  case  of  guilt, 
as  I  conceive  ;  a  case  that  will  throw  on  her  the  onus  of 
showing  that  she  came  in  possession  of  the  said  piece  of 
coin  lawfully,  and  by  no  improper  means.  Failing  of  this, 
your  duty  will  be  plain. 

"  It  is  incumbent  on  the  prosecution  to  make  out  its 
case,  either  by  direct  proof,  on  the  oaths  of  credible  wit- 
nesses, or  by  such  circumstances  as  shall  leave  no  doubt  in 
your  minds  of  the  guilt  of  the  accused.  It  is  also  incum- 
bent that  we  show  that  the  crimes,  of  which  the  prisoner 
is  accused,  have  been  committed,  and  committed  by  her. 

"  Gentlemen,  we  shall  offer  you  this  proof.  We  shall 
show  you  that  the  skeletons  of  which  I  have  spoken,  and 
which  lie  under  that  pall,  sad  remains  of  a  most  ruthless 
scene,  are  beyond  all  question  the  skeletons  of  Peter  and 
Dorothy  Goodwin.  This  will  be  shown  to  you  by  proof  ; 
though  all  who  know  the  parties  can  almost  see  the  like- 
ness in  these  sad  relics  of  mortality.  Peter  Goodwin,  as 
will  be  shown  to  you,  was  a  very  short,  but  sturdy  man, 
while  Dorothy,  his  wife,  was  a  woman  of  large  size.  The 
skeletons  meet  this  description  exactly.  They  were  found 
on  the  charred  wood  of  the  bedstead  the  unhappy  couple 
habitually  used,  and  on  the  very  spot  where  they  had  passed 
so  many  previous  nights  in  security  and  peace.  Everything 
goes  to  corroborate  the  identity  of  the  persons  whose  re- 
mains have  been  found,  and  I  regret  it  should  be  my  duty 
to  add,  that  everything  goes  to  fasten  the  guilt  of  these 
murders  on  the  prisoner  at  the  bar. 

"Gentlemen,  although  we  rely  mainly  on  the  possession 
of  the  Dutch  or  Italian  coin,  no  matter  which,  to  establish 
the  case  for  the  State,  we  shall  offer  you  a  great  deal  of 
sustaining  and  secondary  proof.  In  the  first  place,  the 
fact  that  a  female,  young,  handsome,  well,  nay,  expensively 
educated,  coming  from  nobody  knows  whence,  to  go  no- 
body knows  whither,  should  suddenly  appear  in  a  place 
as  retired  as  the  house  of  Peter  Goodwin,  why  no  one  can 
Say,  is  in  itself  very  suspicious.  Gentlemen,  *  all  is  not 


286  THE  WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

gold  that  glitters.'  Many  a  man,  and  many  a  woman,  in 
places  large  as  New  York,  are  not  what  they  seem  to  be. 
They  dress,  and  laugh,  and  sing,  and  appear  to  be  among  the 
gayest  of  the  gay, when  they  do  not  know  where  to  lay  their 
heads  at  night.  Large  towns  are  moral  blotches,  they  say, 
on  the  face  of  the  community,  and  they  conceal  many 
things  that  will  not  bear  the  light.  From  one  of  these 
large  towns,  it  is  to  be  presumed  from  her  dress,  manners, 
education,  amusements,  and  all  belonging  to  her,  came 
Mary  Monson,  to  ask  an  asylum  in  the  dwelling  of  the 
Goodwins.  Gentlemen,  why  did  she  come  ?  Had  she 
heard  of  the  hoard  of  Mrs.  Goodwin,  and  did  she  crave  the 
possession  of  the 'gold?  These  questions  it  will  be  your 
duty  to  answer  in  your  verdict.  Should  the  reply  be  in 
the  affirmative,  you  obtain,  at  once,  a  direct  clew  to  the 
motives  of  the  murder. 

"  Among  the  collateral  proof  that  will  be  offered  are  the 
following  circumstances,  to  which  I  now  ask  your  partic- 
ular attention,  in  order  that  you  may  give  to  the  testi- 
mony its  proper  value  :  It  will  be  shown  that  Mary  Mon- 
son had  a  large  sum  in  gold  in  her  possession,  after  the 
arson  and  murders,  and  consequently  after  the  robbery, 
but  no  one  knew  of  her  having  any  before.  It  will  be 
shown  that  she  has  money  in  abundance,  scattering  it  right 
and  left,  as  we  suppose,  to  procure  her  acquittal,  and  this 
money,  we  believe,  she  took  from  the  bureau  of  Mrs.  Good- 
win— how  much  is  not  known.  It  is  thought  that  the 
sum  was  very  large  ;  the  gold  alone  amounted  to  near  a 
thousand  dollars,  and  two  witnesses  will  testify  to  a  still 
larger  amount  in  bank-notes.  The  Goodwins  talked  of 
purchasing  a  farm,  valued  at  five  thousand  dollars  ;  and 
as  they  were  known  never  to  run  in  debt,  the  fair  infer- 
ence is,  that  they  must  have  had  at  least  that  sum  by  them. 
A  legacy  was  left  Dorothy  Goodwin  within  the  last  six 
months,  which  we  hear  was  very  considerable,  and  we 
hope  to  be  able  to  put  a  witness  on  the  stand  who  will  tell 
you  all  about  it. 

"  But,  gentlemen,  a  circumstance  worthy  of  all  atten- 
tion in  an  investigation  like  this,  is  connected  with  an  an- 
swer to  this  question  :  Who  is  Mary  Monson  ?  What  are 
her  parentage,  birthplace,  occupation,  and  place  of  res- 
idence ?  Why  did  she  come  to  Biberry  at  all  ?  In  a  word, 
what  is  her  past  history  ?  Let  this  be  satisfactorily  ex- 
plained, and  a  great  step  is  taken  toward  her  vindication 
from  these  most  grave  charges.  Shall  we  have  witnesses 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  2&7 

to  character?  No  one  will  be  happier  to  listen  to  them 
than  myself.  My  duty  is  far  from  pleasant.  I  sincerely 
hope  the  prisoner  will  find  lawful  means  to  convince  you 
of  her  innocence.  There  is  not  one  within  the  walls  of 
this  building  who  will  hear  such  a  verdict,  if  sustained  by 
law  and  evidence,  with  greater  pleasure  than  it  will  be 
heard  by  me." 

After  pursuing  this  vein  some  time  longer,  the  worthy 
functionary  of  the  State  Showed  a  little  of  that  cloven 
foot  which  seems  to  grow  on  all,  even  to  the  cleanest  heels, 
who  look  to  the  popular  voice  for  preferment.  No  mat- 
ter who  the  man  is,  rich  or  poor,  young  or  old,  foolish 
or  wise,  he  bows  down  before  the  idol  of  Numbers,  and 
there  worships.  Votes  being  the  one  thing  wanted,  must 
be  bought  by  sacrifices  on  the  altar  of  conscience.  Now 
it  is  by  wild,  and,  half  the  time,  impracticable  schemes  of 
philanthropy,  that,  while  they  seem  to  work  good  to  the 
majority,  are  quite  likely  to  disregard  the  rights  of  the 
minority  ;  now7  they  are  flourishes  against  negro  slavery, 
or  a  revolution  in  favor  of  the  oppressed  inhabitants  of 
Crim-Tartary,  of  the  real  state  of  which  country  we  are 
all  as  ignorant  as  its  inhabitants  are  ignorant  of  us  ;  now 
it's  an  exemption  law,  to  enable  a  man  to  escape  from  the 
payment  of  his  just  debts,  directly  in  the  teeth  of  the 
sound  policy,  not  to  say  morality,  that  if  a  man  owe  he 
should  be  made  to  pay  as  long  as  he  has  anything  to  do  it 
^vith  ;  now  it  is  a  hymn  in  praise  of  liberty,  that  the  poet 
neither  comprehends  nor  cares  to  look  into  further  than 
may  suit  his  owrn  selfish  patriotism  ;  and  now  it  is  some 
other  of  the  thousand  modes  adopted  by  the  designing  to 
delude  the  masses  and  advance  themselves. 

On  this  occasion  the  district  attorney  was  very  cautious, 
but  he  showed  the  cloven  foot.  He  paid  a  passing  trib- 
ute to  the  god  of  Numbers,  worshipped  before  the  hie- 
rarchy of  votes.  "Gentlemen,"  he  continued,  "like  my- 
self, you  are  plain,  unpretending  citizens.  Neither  you, 
nor  your  wives  and  daughters,  speak  in  foreign  tongues, 
or  play  on  foreign  instruments  of  music.  We  have  been 
brought  up  in  republican  simplicity  [God  bless  it!  say 
we,  could  we  ever  meet  with  it],  and  lay  no  claims  to 
superiority  of  any  sort.  Our  place  is  in  the  body  of  the 
nation,  and  there  we  are  content  to  remain.  We  shall 
pay  no  respect  to  dress,  accomplishments,  foreign  lan- 
guages, or  foreign  music  ;  but  the  evidence  sustaining 
us  will  show  the  world  that  the  law  frowns  as  well  6n 


488  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

the  great  as  on  the  little  :  i.n  the  pretending  as  well  as  on 
the  unpretending." 

As  these  grandiose  sentiments  were  uttered,  several  of 
the  jurors  half  rose  from  their  seats,  in  the  eagerness  to 
hear,  and  looks  of  approbation  passed  from  eye  to  eye. 
This  was  accepted  as  good  republican  doctrine  :  no  one 
there  seeing,  or  feeling,  as  taste  and  truth  would  have 
shown,  that  the  real  pretension  was  on  the  side  of  an  ex- 
aggerated self-esteem,  that  prompted  to  resistance  ere  re- 
sistance was  necessary,  under  the  influence  of,  perhaps, 
the  lowest  passion  of  human  nature — we  allude  to  envy. 
With  a  little  more  in  the  same  vein,  the  district  attorney 
concluded  his  opening. 

The  great  coolness,  not  to  say  indifference,  with  which 
Mary  Monson  listened  to  this  speech,  was  the  subject  of 
general  comment  among  the  members  of  the  bar.  At 
times  she  had  been  attentive,  occasionally  betraying  sur- 
prise ;  then  indignation  would  just  gleam  in  her  remark- 
able eye  ;  but,  on  the  whole,  an  uncommon  calmness 
reigned  in  her  demeanor.  She  had  prepared  tablets  for 
notes  ;  and  twice  she  wrote  in  them  as  the  district  at- 
torney proceeded.  This  was  when  he  adverted  to  her  past 
life,  and  when  he  commented  on  the  Dutch  coin.  While 
he  was  speaking  of  castes,  flattering  one  set  under  the 
veil  of  pretending  humility,  and  undermining  their  oppo- 
sites,  a  look  of  quiet  contempt  was  apparent  in  every  feat- 
ure of  her  very  expressive  face. 

"  If  it  please  the  court,"  said  Dunscomb,  rising  in  his 
deliberate  way,  "before  the  prosecution  proceeds  with 
its  witnesses,  I  could  wish  to  appeal  to  the  courtesy 
of  the  gentlemen  on  the  other  side  for  a  list  of  their 
names." 

"  I  believe  we  are  not  bound  to  furnish  any  such  list," 
answered  Williams,  quickly. 

"  Perhaps  not  bound  exactly  in  law  ;  but,  it  strikes  me, 
bound  in  justice.  This  is  a  trial  for  life  ;  the  proceedings 
are  instituted  by  the  State.  The  object  is  justice,  not  ven- 
geance— the  protection  of  society  through  the  agency  of 
an  impartial,  though  stern  justice.  The  State  cannot  wish 
to  effect  anything  by  surprise.  We  are  accused  of  murder 
and  arson,  with  no  other  notice  of  what  is  to  be  shown,  or 
how  anything  is  to  be  shown,  than  what  is  contained  in  the 
bill  or  complaint.  Any  one  can  see  how  important  it  may 
be  to  us,  to  be  apprised  of  the  names  of  the  witnesses  a 
little  in  advance,  that  we  may  inquire  into  character  and 


THE    WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  289 

note  probabilities.     I  do  not  insist  on  any  right ;  but  I  ask 
a  favor  that  humanity  sanctions." 

"If  it  please  the  court,"  said  Williams,  "we  have  an 
important  trust.  I  will  here  say  that  I  impute  nothing 
improper  to  either  of  the  prisoner's  counsel  ;  but  it  is  my 
duty  to  suggest  the  necessity  of  our  being  cautious.  A 
great  deal  of  money  has  been  expended  already  in  this 
case,  and  there  is  always  danger  of  witnesses  being  bought 
off.  On  behalf  of  my  client,  I  protest  against  the  de- 
mands being  complied  with." 

"  The  court  has  no  objection  to  the  course  asked  by  the 
prisoner's  counsel,"  observed  the  judge,  "  but  cannot  direct 
it.  The  State  can  never  wish  its  officers  to  be  harsh  or  ex- 
acting :  but  it  is  their  duty  to  be  prudent.  Mr.  District 
Attorney,  are  you  ready  with  your  evidence  ?  Time  is 
precious,  sir." 

The  testimony  for  the  prosecution  is  now  offered.  We 
shall  merely  advert  to  most  of  it,  reserving  our  details  for 
those  witnesses  on  whom  the  cause  might  be  said  to  turn. 
Two  very  decent-looking  and  well-behaved  men,  farm- 
ers who  resided  in  the  vicinity  of  Biberry,  were  put  on 
the  stand  to  establish  the  leading  heads  of  the  case. 
They  had  known  Peter  and  Dorothy  Goodwin  ;  had  often 
stopped  at  the  house  ;  and  were  familiarly  acquainted  with 
the  old  couple,  as  neighbors.  Remembered  the  fire — was 
present  at  it,  toward  its  close.  Saw  the  prisoner  there  ; 
saw  her  descend,  by  a  ladder  ;  and  assisted  in  saving  her 
effects.  Several  trunks,  carpet-bags,  band-boxes,  writing- 
desks,  musical  instruments,  etc.,  etc.  All  were  saved.  "// 
seemed  to  them  that  they  had  been  placed  near  the  windows,  in  a 
way  to  be  handy"  "After  the  fire,  had  never  seen  or  heard 
anything  of  the  old  man  and  his  wife,  unless  two  skeletons 
that  had  been  found  were  their  skeletons.  Supposed  them 
them  to  be  the  skeletons  of  Peter  Goodwin  and  his  wife." 
Here  the  remains  were  for  the  first  time  on  that  trial  ex 
posed  to  view.  "  Those  are  the  same  skeletons,  should 
say — had  no  doubt  of  it ;  they  are  about  the  size  of  the  old 
couple.  The  husband  was  short ;  the  wife  tall.  Little  or 
no  difference  in  their  height.  Had  never  seen  the  stock- 
ing or  the  gold  ;  but  had  heard  a  good  deal  of  talk  of 
them,  having  lived  near  neighbors  to  the  Goodwins  five- 
and-twenty  years." 

Dunscomb  conducted  the  cross-examination.  He  was 
close,  discriminating,  and  judicious.  Separating  the  hear- 
say and  gossip  from  the  facts  known,  he  at  once  threw  the 

19 


290  THE   WA  YS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

former  to  the  winds,  as  matter  not  to  be  received  by  the 
jury.  We  shall  give  a  few  of  his  questions  and  their  an- 
swers that  have  a  bearing  on  the  more  material  points  of 
the  trial. 

"  I  understand  you  to  say,  witness,  that  you  knew  both 
Peter  Goodwin  and  his  wife." 

"  I  did — I  knew  them  well — saw  them  almost  every  day 
of  my  life." 

"  For  how  long  a  time  ? " 

"  This  many  a  day.  For  five-and-twenty  years,  or  a 
little  more." 

"  Will  you  say  that  you  have  been  in  the  habit  of  seeing 
Peter  Goodwin  and  his  wife  daily,  or  almost  daily,  for 
five-and-twenty  years  ? " 

"  If  not  right  down  daily,  quite  often  ;  as  often  as  once 
or  twice  a  week,  certainly." 

"  Is  this  material,  Mr.  Dunscomb  ?"  inquired  the  judge. 
"The  time  of  the  court  is  very  precious." 

"  It  is  material,  your  honor,  as  showing  the  looseness 
with  which  witnesses  testify  ;  and  as  serving  to  caution 
the  jury  how  they  receive  their  evidence.  The  opening 
of  the  prosecution  shows  us  that  if  the  charge  is  to  be 
made  out  at  all  against  the  prisoner,  it  is  to  be  made  out 
on  purely  circumstantial  evidence.  It  is  not  pretended 
that  any  one  saw  Mary  Monson  kill  the  Goodwins  ;  but  the 
crime  is  to  be  inferred  from  a  series  of  collateral  facts, 
that  will  be  laid  before  the  court  and  jury.  I  think  your 
honor  will  see  how  important  it  is,  under  the  circum- 
stances, to  analyze  the  testimony,  even  on  points  that  may 
not  seem  to  bear  directly  on  the  imputed  crimes.  If  a 
witness  testify  loosely,  the  jury  ought  to  be  made  to  see  it. 
I  have  a  life  to  defend,  your  honor  will  remember." 

"  Proceed,  sir  ;  the  court  will  grant  you  the  widest  lati- 
tude." 

"  You  now  say,  as  often  as  once  or  twice  a  week,  wit- 
ness ;  on  reflection,  will  you  swear  to  even  that  ?  " 

11  Well,  if  not  twice,  I  am  sure  I  can  say  once" 

Dunscomb  was  satisfied  with  this  answer,  which  went  to 
show  that  the  witness  could  reply  a  little  at  random,  and 
was  not  always  certain  of  his  facts,  when  pressed. 

"  Are  you  certain  that  Dorothy  Goodwin  is  dead  ? " 

"  I  suppose  I  am  as  certain  as  any  of  the  neighbors." 
"  That  is  not  an  answer  to  my  question.     Will  you,  and 
do  you  swear  on  your  oath,  that  Peter  Goodwin,  the  per- 
son named  in  the  indictment,  is  actually  dead  ?  " 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  291 

"  I'll  swear  that  I  think  so." 

"  That  is  not  what  I  want.  You  see  those  skeletons — 
will  you  say,  on  your  oath,  that  you  know  them  to  be  the 
skeletons  of  Peter  and  Dorothy  Goodwin  ? " 

"  I'll  swear  that  I  believe  it." 

"  That  does  not  meet  the  question.     Do  you  know  it  ? " 

"  How  can  I  know  it  ?  I'm  not  a  doctor  or  a  surgeon. 
No,  I  do  not  absolutely  know  it.  Still,  I  believe  that  one 
is  the  skeleton  of  Peter  Goodwin,  and  the  other  the  skele- 
ton of  his  wife." 

"Which  do  you  suppose  to  be  the  skeleton  of  Peter 
Goodwin  ?  " 

This  question  puzzled  the  witness  not  a  little.  To  the 
ordinary  eye,  there  was  scarcely  any  difference  in  the  ap- 
pearance of  these  sad  remains  ;  though  one  skeleton  had 
been  ascertained  by  actual  measurement  to  be  about  an 
inch  and  a  half  longer  than  the  other.  This  fact  was 
known  to  all  in  Biberry  ;  but  it  was  not  easy  to  say  which 
was  which,  at  a  glance.  The  witness  took  the  safe  course, 
therefore,  of  putting  his  opinion  altogether  on  a  different 
ground. 

"  I  do  not  pretend  to  tell  one  from  the  other,"  was  the 
answer.  "  What  I  know  of  my  own  knowledge  is  this,  and 
this  only.  I  knew  Peter  and  Dorothy  Goodwin  ;  knew  the 
house  they  lived  in  ;  know  that  the  house  has  been  burned 
down,  and  that  the  old  folks  are  not  about  their  old  ha'nts. 
The  skeletons  I  never  saw  until  they  were  moved  from 
the  place  where  they  tell  me  they  were  found  ;  for  I  was 
busy  helping  to  get  the  articles  saved  under  cover." 

"  Then  you  do  not  pretend  to  know  which  skeleton  is 
that  of  a  man,  or  which  that  of  a  woman  ? " 

This  question  was  ingeniously  put,  and  had  the  effect 
to  make  all  the  succeeding  witnesses  shy  on  this  point  ; 
for  it  created  a  belief  that  there  was  a  difference  that 
might  be  recognized  by  those  who  are  skilled  in  such 
matters.  The  witness  assented  to  the  view  of  Dunscomb  ; 
and  having  been  so  far  sifted  as  to  show  he  knew  no  more 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  neighbors,  he  was  suffered  to 
quit  the  stand.  The  result  was  that  very  little  was  actu- 
ally established  by  means  of  this  testimony.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  the  jury  was  now  on  the  alert,  and  not  disposed 
to  receive  all  that  was  said  as  gospel. 

The  next  point  was  to  make  out  all  the  known  facts  of 
the  fire,  and  of  the  finding  of  the  skeletons.  The  two  wit- 
nesses just  examined  had  seen  the  close  of  the  fire,  had 


292  THE   WA  YS    OF   THE  HOUR. 

heard  of  the  skeletons,  but  had  said  very  little  more  to  the 
purpose.  Dunscomb  thought  it  might  be  well  to  throw  in 
a  hint  to  this  effect  in  the  present  state  of  the  case,  as  he 
now  did  by  remarking — 

"  I  trust  that  the  district  attorney  will  see  precisely 
where  he  stands.  All  that  has  yet  been  shown  by  legal 
proof  are  the  facts  that  there  were  such  persons  as  Peter 
and  Dorothy  Goodwin  ;  facts  we  are  not  at  all  disposed 
to  deny " 

"  And  that  they  have  not  appeared  in  the  flesh  since 
the  night  of  the  fire  ?"  put  in  Williams. 

"  Not  to  the  witnesses  ;  but,  to  how  many  others,  does 
not  appear." 

"  Does  the  learned  counsel  mean  to  set  up  the  defence 
that  Goodwin  and  his  wife  are  not  dead  ? " 

"  It  is  for  the  prosecution  to  show  the  contrary  affirma- 
tively. If  it  be  so,  it  is  fair  to  presume  they  can  do  it. 
All  I  now  contend  for,  is  the  fact  that  we  have  no  proof 
as  yet  that  either  is  dead.  We  have  proof  that  the  house 
was  burned  ;  but  we  are  now  traversing  an  indictment  for 
murder,  and  not  that  for  arson.  As  yet,  it  strikes  me, 
therefore,  nothing  material  has  been  shown." 

"  It  is  certainly  material,  Mr.  Dunscomb,  that  there 
should  have  been  such  persons  as  the  Goodwins,  and  that 
they  have  disappeared  since  the  night  of  the  fire  ;  and 
this  much  is  proved,  unless  you  impeach  the  witnesses," 
observed  the  judge. 

"Well,  sir,  that  much  we  are  not  disposed  to  deny. 
There  were  such  persons  as  the  Goodwins,  and  they 
have  disappeared  from  the  neighborhood.  We  believe 
that  much  ourselves." 

"  Crier,  call  Peter  Bacon." 

Bacon  came  forward,  dressed  in  an  entire  new  suit  of 
clothes,  and  appearing  much  more  respectable  than  was 
his  wont.  This  man's  testimony  was  almost  word  for  word 
as  it  has  already  been  given  in  the  coroner's  inquest.  He 
established  the  facts  of  the  fire,  about  which  there  could 
be  no  prudent  contention  indeed,  and  of  the  finding  of  the 
skeletons ;  for  he  had  been  one  of  those  who  aided 
in  first  searching  the  ruins  for  the  remains.  This  man 
told  his  story  in  an  extremely  vulgar  dialect,  as  we  have 
had  already  occasion  to  show  ;  but  in  a  very  clear,  dis- 
tinct manner.  He  meant  to  tell  the  truth,  and  succeeded 
reasonably  well  ;  for  it  does  not  occur  to  all  who  have  the 
same  upright  intentions  to  effect  their  purposes  as  well 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  293 

as  he  did  himself.  Dunscomb's  cross-examination  was 
very  brief ;  for  he  perceived  it  was  useless  to  attempt  to 
deny  what  had  been  thus  proved. 

"  Jane  Pope,"  called  out  the  district  attorney.  "  Is  Mrs. 
Jane  Pope  in  court  ? " 

The  Widow  Pope  was  on  the  spot,  and  ready  and  will- 
ing to  answer.  She  removed  her  bonnet,  took  the  oath, 
and  was  shown  to  the  seat  with  which  it  is  usual  to  ac- 
commodate persons  of  her  sex. 

"  Your  name,"  said  Dunscomb,  holding  his  pen  over  the 
paper. 

"  Pope- — Jane  Pope  since  my  marriage  ;  but  Jane  Ander- 
son from  my  parents." 

Dunscomb  listened  politely,  but  recorded  no  more  than 
the  appellation  of  the  widow.  Mrs.  Pope  now  proceeded 
to  tell  her  story,  which  she  did  reasonably  well,  though  not 
without  a  good  deal  of  unnecessary  amplitude,  and  some 
slight  contradictions.  It  was  her  intention,  also,  to  tell 
nothing  but  the  truth  ;  but  persons  whose  tongues  move 
as  nimbly  as  that  of  this  woman's  do  not  always  know  ex- 
actly what  they  do  say.  Dunscomb  detected  the  contra- 
dictions ;  but  he  had  the  tact  to  see  their  cause,  saw  that 
they  were  not  material,  and  wisely  abstained  from  con- 
founding whatever  of  justice  there  was  in  the  defence  with 
points  that  the  jury  had  probably  sufficient  sagacity  to  see 
were  of  no  great  moment.  He  made  no  note,  therefore,  of 
these  little  oversights,  and  allowed  the  woman  to  tell  her 
whole  story  uninterrupted.  When  it  came  to  his  turn  to 
cross-examine,  however,  the  duty  of  so  doing  was  not  neg- 
lected. 

"  You  say,  Mrs.  Pope,  that  you  had  often  seen  the  stock- 
ing in  which  Mrs.  Goodwin  kept  her  gold.  Of  what  ma- 
terial was  that  stocking  ?" 

"Wool — yes,  of  blue  woollen  yarn.  A  stocking  knit  by 
hand,  and  very  darny." 

"  Should  you  know  the  stocking,  Mrs.  Pope,  were  you 
to  see  it  again  ?" 

"  I  think  I  might.  Dolly  Goodwin  and  I  looked  over 
the  gold  together  more  than  once  ;  and  the  stocking  got 
to  be  a  sort  of  acquaintance." 

"  Was  this  it  ?"  continued  Dunscomb,  taking  a  stocking 
of  the  sort  described  from  Timms,  who  sat  ready  to  pro- 
duce the  article  at  the  proper  moment. 

"If  it  please  the  court,"  cried  Williams,  rising  in  haste 
and  preparing  eagerly  to  interrupt  the  examination, 


294  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

"  Your  pardon,  sir,"  put  in  Dunscomb,  with  great  self, 
command,  but  very  firmly — "  words  must  not  be  put  into 
the  witness's  mouth,  nor  ideas  into  her  head.  She  has 
sworn,  may  it  please  your  honor,  to  a  certain  stocking, 
which  stocking  she  described  in  her  examination  in 
chief  ;  and  we  now  ask  her  if  this  is  that  stocking.  All 
this  is  regular,  I  believe  ;  and  I  trust  we  are  not  to  be  in- 
terrupted." 

"  Go  on,  sir,"  said  the  judge  ;  "  the  prosecution  will  not 
interrupt  the  defence.  But  time  is  very  precious." 

"  Is  this  the  stocking  ? "  repeated  Dunscomb. 

The  woman  examined  the  stocking,  looking  inside  and 
out,  turning  it  over  and  over,  and  casting  many  a  curious 
glance  at  the  places  that  had  been  mended. 

"  It's  dreadful  darny,  isn't  it  ? "  she  said,  looking  inquir- 
ingly at  the  counsellor. 

"  It  is  as  you  see,  ma'am.  I  have  made  no  alteration 
in  it." 

"  I  declare  I  believe  this  is  the  very  stocking." 

"  At  the  proper  time,  your  honor,  we  shall  show  that  this 
is  not  the  stocking,  if  indeed  there  ever  was  such  a  stock- 
ing at  all,"  said  Tim  ins,  rolling  up  the  article  in  question, 
and  handing  it  to  the  clerk  to  keep. 

"  You  saw  a  certain  piece  of  gold,  you  say,"  resumed 
Dunscomb,  "  which  piece  of  gold  I  understand  you  to  say 
was  afterward  found  in  the  pocket  of  Mary  Monson.  Will 
you  have  the  goodness  to  say  whether  the  piece  of  gold 
which  you  saw  in  Mrs.  Goodwin's  possession  is  among 
these  " — showing  a  dozen  coins  ;  "  or  whether  one  resem- 
bling it  is  here  ?" 

The  woman  was  greatly  puzzled.  She  meant  to  be 
honest  ;  had  told  no  more  than  was  true,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  little  embellishments  that  her  propensity  to 
imagine  and  talk  rendered  almost  unavoidable  ;  but,  for 
the  life  of  her,  she  could  not  distinguish  the  piece  of  money, 
or  its  counterpart.  After  examining  the  coins  for  several 
minutes  she  frankly  admitted  her  ignorance. 

"  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  continue  this  cross-examina- 
tion," said  Dunscomb,  looking  at  his  watch.  "I  shall  ask 
the  court  to  adjourn,  and  to  adjourn  over  until  morning. 
We  have  reached  the  hour  for  lighting  candles  ;  but  we 
have  agents  out  in  quest  of  most  important  witnesses  ;  and 
we  ask  the  loss  of  this  evening  as  a  favor.  It  can  make 
no  great  difference  as  to  the  length  of  the  trial ;  and  the 
jurors  will  be  all  the  fresher  for  a  good  night's  rest." 


TtfE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  295 

The  court  acquiesced,  and  allowed  of  the  adjournment, 
giving  the  jury  the  usual  charge  about  conversing  or  mak- 
ing up  their  opinions  until  they  had  heard  the  whole  tes- 
timony ;  a  charge  that  both  Williams  and  Timms  took  very 
good  care  to  render  of  no  use  in  several  instances,  or  as 
regarded  particular  individuals. 

A  decided  impression  was  made  in  favor  of  the  prisoner 
by  Mrs.  Pope's  failure  to  distinguish  the  piece  of  money. 
In  her  examination  in  chief  she  saw  no  difficulty  in  recog- 
nizing the  single  piece  then  shown  to  her,  and  which  was 
the  Dutch  coin  actually  found  in  Mary  Monson's  purse  ; 
but,  when  it  was  put  among  a  dozen  others  resembling  it, 
more  or  less,  she  lost  all  confidence  in  herself,  and,  to  a 
certain  point,  completely  broke  down  as  a  witness.  But 
Dunscomb  saw  that  the  battle  had  not  yet  in  truth  begun. 
What  had  passed  was  merely  the  skirmishing  of  light 
troops,  feeling  the  way  for  the  advance  of  the  heavy  col- 
umns and  the  artillery  that  were  to  decide  the  fortunes  of 
the  day. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

'Tis  the  wisest  way,  upon  all  tender  topics,  to  be  silent ;  for  he  who 
takes  upon  himself  to  defend  a  lady's  reputation,  only  publishes  her  favors 
to  the  world. — CUMBERLAND. 

THE  wing  of  Horton's  Inn,  that  contained  the  room  of 
Dunscomb,  was  of  considerable  extent,  having  quite  a 
dozen  rooms  in  it,  though  mostly  of  the  diminutive  size  of 
an  American  tavern  bedroom.  The  best  apartment  in  it, 
one  with  two  windows,  and  of  some  dimensions,  was  that 
appropriated  to  the  counsellor.  The  doctor  and  his  party 
had  a  parlor,  with  two  bedrooms  ;  while,  between  these 
and  the  room  occupied  by  Dunscomb,  was  that  of  the  troub- 
lesome guest — the  individual  who  was  said  to  be  insane. 
Most  of  the  remainder  of  the  wing,  which  was  much  the 
most  quiet  and  retired  portion  of  the  house,  was  used  for 
a  better  class  of  bedrooms.  There  were  two  rooms,  how- 
ever, that  the  providence  of  Horton  and  his  wife  had  set 
apart  for  a  very  different  purpose.  These  were  small  par- 
lors, in  which  the  initiated  smoked,  drank,  and  played. 

Nothing  sooner  indicates  the  school  in  which  a  man  has 
been  educated,  than  his  modes  of  seeking  amusement. 
One  who  has  been  accustomed  to  see  innocent  relaxation 


496  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

innocently  indulged,  from  childhood  up,  is  rarely  tempted 
to  abuse  those  habits  which  have  never  been  associated,  in 
his  mind,  with  notions  of  guilt,  and  which,  in  themselves, 
necessarily  imply  no  moral  delinquency.  Among  the  lib- 
eral, cards,  dancing,  music,  all  games  of  skill  and  chance 
that  can  interest  the  cultivated,  and  drinking,  in  modera- 
tion and  of  suitable  liquors,  convey  no  ideas  of  wrong-do- 
ing.  As  they  have  been  accustomed  to  them  from  early 
life,  and  have  seen  them  practised  with  decorum  and  a  due 
regard  to  the  habits  of  refined  society,  there  is  no  reason 
for  concealment  or  consciousness.  On  the  other  hand,  an 
exaggerated  morality,  which  has  the  temerity  to  enlarge 
the  circle  of  sin  beyond  the  bounds  for  which  it  can  find 
any  other  warranty  than  its  own  metaphysical  inferences, 
is  very  apt  to  create  a  factitious  conscience,  that  almost  in- 
variably takes  refuge  in  that  vilest  of  all  delinquency — direct 
hypocrisy.  This,  we  take  it,  is  the  reason  that  the  reaction 
of  ultra  godliness  so  generally  leaves  its  subjects  in  the 
mire  and  slough  of  deception  and  degradation.  The  very 
same  acts  assume  different  chaiacters,  in  the  hands  of  these 
two  classes  of  persons  ;  and  that  which  is  perfectly  inno- 
cent with  the  first,  affording  a  pleasant,  and  in  that  respect 
a  useful  relaxation,  becomes  low,  vicious,  and  dangerous 
with  the  other,  because  tainted  with  the  corrupting  and 
most  dangerous  practices  of  deception.  The  private  wing 
of  Horton's  Inn,  to  which  there  has  been  allusion,  furnished 
an  example  in  point  of  what  we  mean,  within  two  hours 
of  the  adjournment  of  the  court. 

In  the  parlor  of  Mrs.  McBrain,  late  Dunscomb's  Widow 
Updyke,  as  he  used  to  call  her,  a  little  table  was  set  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  at  which  Dunscomb  himself,  the  doc- 
tor, his  new  wife  and  Sarah  were  seated,  at  a  game  of  whist. 
The  door  was  not  locked,  no  countenance  manifested  either 
a  secret  consciousness  of  wrong,  or  an  overweening  desire 
to  transfer  another's  money  to  its  owner's  pocket,  although 
a  sober  sadness  might  be  said  to  reign  in  the  party,  the 
consequence  of  the  interest  all  took  in  the  progress  of  the 
trial. 

Within  twenty  feet  of  the  spot  just  mentioned,  and  in 
the  two  little  parlors  already  named,  was  a  very  different 
set  collected.  It  consisted  of  the  rowdies  of  the  bar,  per- 
haps two-thirds  of  the  reporters  in  attendance  on  Mary 
Monson's  trial,  several  suitors,  four  or  five  country  doctors, 
who  had  been  summoned  as  witnesses  and  such  other 
equivocal  gentry  as  might  aspire  to  belong  to  a  set  as 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  297 

polished  and  exclusive  as  that  we  are  describing.  We 
will  first  give  a  moment's  attention  to  the  party  around  the 
whist-table  in  the  parlor  first  described. 

"  I  do  not  think  the  prosecution  has  made  out  as  well 
to-day,  all  things  considered,  as  it  was  generally  supposed 
it  would,"  observed  McBrain.  "  There  is  the  ace  of  trumps, 
Miss  Sarah,  and  if  you  can  follow  it  with  the  king,  we  shall 
get  the  odd  trick." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  shall  follow  it  with  anything,"  answered 
Sarah,  throwing  down  her  cards.  "  It  really  seems  heart- 
less to  be  playing  whist,  with  a  fellow-creature  of  our  ac- 
quaintance on  trial  for  her  life." 

"  I  have  not  half  liked  the  game,"  said  the  quiet  Mrs. 
McBrain,  "  but  Mr.  Dunscomb  seemed  so  much  bent  on  a 
rubber,  I  scarce  knew  how  to  refuse  him." 

"Why,  true  enough,  Tom,"  put  in  the  doctor,  "this  is 
all  your  doings,  and  if  there  be  anything  wrong  about  it, 
you  will  have  to  bear  the  blame." 

"  Play  anything  but  a  trump,  Miss  Sarah,  and  we  get  the 
game.  You  are  quite  right,  N.ed  " — throwing  down  the 
pack — "  the  prosecution  has  not  done  as  well  as  I  feared 
they  might.  That  Mrs.  Pope  as  a  witness  I  dreaded,  but 
her  testimony  amounts  to  very  little  in  itself  ;  and  what 
she  has  said  has  been  pretty  well  shaken  by  her  ignorance 
of  the  coin." 

"  I  really  begin  to  hope  the  unfortunate  lady  may  be 
innocent,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Innocent  !  "  exclaimed  Sarah — "  surely,  Uncle  Ned, 
you  can  never  have  doubted  it !  " 

McBrain  and  Dunscomb  exchanged  significant  glances, 
and  the  latter  was  about  to  answer,  when,  raising  his  eyes, 
he  saw  a  strange  form  glide  stealthily  into  the  room,  and 
place  itself  in  a  dark  corner.  It  was  a  short,  sturdy  figure 
of  a  man,  with  all  those  signs  of  squalid  misery  in  his 
countenance  and  dress  that  usually  denote  mental  imbe- 
cility. He  seemed  anxious  to  conceal  himself,  and  did 
succeed  in  getting  more  than  half  of  his  person  beneath  a 
shawl  of  Sarah's  ere  he  was  seen  by  any  of  the  party  but 
the  counsellor.  It  at  once  occurred  to  the  latter  that  this 
was  the  being  who  had  more  than  once  disturbed  him  by 
his  noise,  and  who  Mrs.  Horton  had  pretty  plainly  inti- 
mated was  out  of  his  mind  ;  though  she  had  maintained  a 
singularly  discreet  silence,  for  her,  touching  his  history 
and  future  prospects.  She  believed  "  he  had  been  brought 
to  court  by  his  friends,  to  get  some  order,  or  judgment—' 


298  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

maybe  his  visit  had  something  to  do  with  the  new  Code, 
about  which  Squire  Dunscomb  said  so  many  hard  things." 

A  little  scream  from  Sarah  soon  apprised  all  in  the  room 
of  the  presence  of  this  disgusting-looking  object.  She 
snatched  away  her  shawl,  leaving  the  idiot,  or  madman,  or 
whatever  he  might  be>  fully  exposed  to  view,  and  retreated 
herself  behind  her  uncle's  chair. 

"  I  fancy  you  have  mistaken  your  room,  my  friend,"  said 
Dunscomb,  mildly.  "This,  as  you  see,  is  engaged  by  a 
card-party — I  take  it  you  do  not  play." 

A  look  of  cunning  left  very  little  doubt  of  the  nature  of 
the  malady  with  which  this  unfortunate  being  was  afflicted. 
He  made  a  clutch  at  the  cards,  laughed,  then  drew  back, 
and  began  to  mutter. 

''She  won't  let  me  play,"  mumbled  the  idiot — "she 
never  would'' 

"Whom  do^-ou  mean  by  she?"  asked  Dunscomb.  "Is 
it  any  one  in  this  house — Mrs.  Horton,  for  instance  ?" 

Another  cunning  look,  with  a  shake  of  the  head,  for  an 
answer  in  the  negative. 

"  Be  you  Squire  Dunscomb,  the  great  York  lawyer  ? " 
asked  the  stranger,  with  interest. 

"  Dunscomb  is  certainly  my  name — though  I  have  not 
the  pleasure  of  knowing  yours." 

"  I  haven't  got  any  name.  They  may  ask  me  from  morn- 
ing to  night,  and  I  won't  tell.  She  won't  let  me." 

"  By  she  you  again  mean  Mrs.  Horton,  I  suppose  ?" 

"No,  I  don't.  Mrs.  Horton's  a  good  woman  ;  she  gives 
me  victuals  and  drink." 

"  Tell  us  whom  you  do  mean,  then  ? " 

"  Won't  you  tell  ?  " 

"  Not  unless  it  be  improper  to  keep  the  secret.  Who  is 
this  she?" 

"Why,  she" 

"  Ay,  but  who  ? " 

"  M'ary  Monson.  If  you're  the  great  lawyer  from  York, 
and  they  say  you  be,  you  must  know  all  about  Mary  Mon- 
son." 

"This  is  very  extraordinary !"  said  Dunscomb,  regard- 
ing his  companion  in  surprise.  "  I  do  know  something 
about  Mary  Monson,  but  not  all  about  her.  Can  you  tell 
me  anything  ?" 

Here  the  stranger  advanced  a  little  from  his  corner,  lis- 
tened, as  if  fearful  of  being  surprised,  then  laid  a  finger  on 
his  lip,  and  made  the  familiar  sign  for  "  hush." 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  299 

"  Don't  let  her  hear  you  ;  if  you  do  you  may  be  sorry 
for  it.  She's  a  witch  !  " 

"  Poor  fellow  !  she  seems,  in  truth,  to  have  bewitched 
you,  as  I  dare  say  she  may  have  done  many  another  man." 

"  That  has  she  !  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  what  I  want  to 
know,  if  you  really  be  the  great  lawyer  from  York." 

"  Put  your  questions,  my  friend  ;  I'll  endeavor  to  answer 
them." 

"  Who  set  fire  to  the  house  ?     Can  you  tell  me  that?" 

11  That  is  a  secret  yet  to  be  discovered — do  you  happen 
to  know  anything  about  it?" 

"  Do  I  ?  I  think  I  do.  Ask  Mary  Monson  ;  she  can  tell 
you." 

All  this  was  so  strange  that  the  whole  party  now  gazed 
at  each  other  in  mute  astonishment;  McBrain  bending  his 
looks  more  intently  on  the  stranger,  in  order  to  ascertain 
the  true  nature  of  the  mental  malady  with  which  he  was 
obviously  afflicted.  In  some  respects  the  disease  wore  the 
appearance  of  idiocy  ;  then  again  there  were  gleams  of 
the  countenance  that  savored  of  absolute  madness. 

"You  are  of  opinion,  then,  that  Mary  Monson  knows 
who  set  fire  to  the  house  ?" 

"  Sartain,  she  does.  I  know,  too,  but  I  won't  tell.  They 
might  want  to  hang  me,  as  well  as  Mary  Monson,  if  I  told. 
I  know  too  much  to  do  anything  so  foolish.  Mary  has 
said  they  would  hang  me  if  I  tell.  I  don't  want  to  be 
hanged  a  bit." 

A  shudder  from  Sarah  betrayed  the  effect  of  these  words 
on  the  listeners,  and  Mrs.  McBrain  actually  rose  with  the 
intention  of  sending  for  her  daughter,  who  was  then  in 
the  jail,  consoling  the  much-injured  prisoner,  as  Anna 
Updyke  firmly  believed  her  to  be,  by  her  gentle  but  firm 
friendship.  A  word  from  the  doctor,  however,  induced 
her  to  resume  her  seat,  and  to  await  the  result  with  a 
greater  degree  of  patience. 

"  Mary  Monson  would  seem  to  be  a  very  prudent  coun- 
sellor," rejoined  Dunscomb. 

"  Yes  ;  but  she  isn't  the  great  counsellor  from  York — • 
you  be  that  gentleman,  they  tell  me." 

"  May  I  ask  who  told  you  anything  about  me  ? " 

"  Nancy  Horton — and  so  did  Mary  Monson.  Nancy 
said  if  I  made  so  much  noise  I  should  disturb  the  great 
counsellor  from  York,  and  he  might  get  me  hanged  for  it, 
I  was  only  singing  hymns,  and  they  say  it  is  good  for 
folks  in  trouble  to  sing  hymns.  If  you  be  the  great  conn- 


300  THE   WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

seller  from  York  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  onje  thing. 
Who  got  the  gold  that  was  in  the  stocking  ?  " 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  anything  of  that  stocking,  or 
of  the  gold  ? " 

"  Do  I — "  looking  first  over  one  shoulder,  then  over 
the  other,  but  hesitating  to  proceed.  "Will  they  hang  me 
if  I  tell  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  not,  though  I  can  only  give  you  an 
opinion.  Do  not  answer,  unless  it  be  agreeable  to  you." 

"  I  want  to  tell — I  want  to  tell  all,  but  I'm  afeard.  I 
don't  want  to  be  hanged." 

"Well,  then,  speak  out  boldly,  and  I  will  promise  that 
you  shall  not  be  hanged.  Who  got  the  gold  that  was  in 
the  stocking  ? " 

"  Mary  Monson.  That's  the  way  she  has  got  so  much 
money." 

"I  cannot  consent  to  leave  Anna  another  instant  in 
such  company  !  "  exclaimed  the  anxious  mother.  "  Go, 
McBrain,  and  bring  her  hither  at  once." 

"You  are  a  little  premature,"  coolly  remarked  Duns- 
comb.  "This  is  but  a  person  of  weak  mind,  and  too  much 
importance  should  not  be  attached  to  his  words.  Let  us 
hear  what  further  he  may  have  to  say." 

It  was  too  late.  The  footstep  of  Mrs.  Horton  was 
heard  in  the  passage,  and  the  extraordinary  being  van- 
ished as  suddenly  and  as  stealthily  as  he  had  entered. 

"What  can  be  made  of  this?"  McBrain  demanded, 
when  a  moment  had  been  taken  to  reflect. 

"  Nothing,  Ned  ;  I  care  not  if  Williams  knew  it  all. 
The  testimony  of  such  a  man  cannot  be  listened  to  for  an 
instant.  It  is  wrong  in  us  to  give  it  a  second  thought, 
though  I  perceive  that  you  do.  Half  the  mischief  in  the 
world  is  caused  by  misconceptions,  arising  from  a  very  nu- 
merous family  of  causes,  one  of  which  is  a  disposition  to 
fancy  a  great  deal  from  a  little.  Do  you  pronounce  the 
man  an  idiot — or  is  he  a  madman  ? " 

"He  does  not  strike  me  as  absolutely  either.  There  is 
something  peculiar  in  his  case ;  and  I  shall  ask  permis- 
sion to  look  into  it.  I  suppose  we  are  done  with  the  cards 
• — shall  I  go  for  Anna  ? " 

The  anxious  mother  gave  a  ready  assent,  and  McBrain 
went  one  way,  while  Dunscomb  retired  to  his  room,  not 
without  stopping  before  his  neighbor's  door,  whom  he 
heard  muttering  and  menacing  within. 

All   this   time    the  two   little    parlors  mentioned   were 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  301 

receiving  their  company.  The  law  is  doubtless  a  very 
elevated  profession,  when  its  practice  is  on  a  scale  com- 
mensurate with  its  true  objects.  It  becomes  a  very  differ- 
ent pursuit,  however,  when  its  higher  walks  are  abandoned, 
to  choose  a  path  amid  its  thickets  and  quagmires.  Per- 
haps no  human  pursuit  causes  a  wider  range  of  character 
among  its  votaries  than  the  practice  of  this  profession. 
In  the  first  place,  the  difference,  in  an  intellectual  point 
of  view,  between  the  man  who  sees  only  precedents,  and 
the  man  who  sees  the  principles  on  which  they  are  found- 
ed, is  as  marked  as  the  difference  between  black  and 
white.  To  this  great  distinction  in  mind  is  to  be  added 
another  that  opens  a  still  wider  chasm,  the  results  of  prac- 
tice, and  which  depends  on  morals.  While  one  set  of 
lawyers  turn  to  the  higher  objects  of  their  calling,  declin- 
ing fees  in  cases  of  obviously  questionable  right,  and 
struggle  to  maintain  their  honesty  in  direct  collision  with 
the  world  and  its  temptations,  another,  and  much  the 
largest,  falls  readily  into  the  practices  of  their  craft— the 
word  seems  admirably  suited  to  the  subject — and  live  on, 
encumbered  and  endangered  not  only  by  their  own  natu- 
ral vices,  but  greatly  damaged  by  those  that  in  a  manner 
they  adopt,  as  it  might  be  ex  officio.  This  latter  course  is 
unfortunately  that  taken  by  a  vast  number  of  the  mem- 
bers of  the  bar  all  over  the  world,  rendering  them  loose  in 
their  social  morality,  ready  to  lend  themselves  and  their 
talents  to  the  highest  bidder,  and  causing  them  to  be  at 
first  indifferent,  and  in  the  end  blind,  to  the  great  features 
of  right  and  wrong.  These  are  the  moralists  who  advance 
the  doctrine  that  "  the  advocate  has  a  right  to  act  as  his 
client  would  act ;"  while  the  class  first  named  allow  that 
"  the  advocate  has  a  right  to  do  what  his  client  has  a  right 
to  do,"  and  no  more. 

Perhaps  there  was  not  a  single  member  of  the  profes- 
sion present  that  night  in  the  two  little  parlors  of  Mrs. 
Horton,  who  recognized  the  latter  of  these  rules  ;  or  who 
did  not,  at  need,  practise  on  the  former.  As  has  been 
already  said,  these  were  the  rowdies  of  the  Dukes  County 
bar.  They  chewed,  smoked,  drank,  and  played,  each  and 
all  coarsely.  To  things  that  were  innocent  in  themselves 
they  gave  the  aspect  of  guilt  by  their  own  manners.  The 
doors  were  kept  locked  ;  even  amid  their  coarsest  jokes, 
their  ribaldry,  their  oaths,  that  were  often  revolting  and 
painfully  frequent,  there  was  an  uneasy  watchfulness,  as 
if  they  feared  detection.  There  was  nothing  frank  and 


302  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

manly  in  the  deportment  of  these  men.  Chicanery,  man. 
agement,  double-dealing,  mixed  up  with  the  outbreakings 
of  a  coarse  standard  of  manners,  were  visible  in  all  they 
said  or  did,  except,  perhaps,  at  those  moments  when 
hypocrisy  was  paying  its  homage  to  virtue.  This  hypoc- 
risy, however,  had  little,  or  at  most  a  very  indirect  connec- 
tion with  anything  religious.  The  offensive  offshoots 
of  the  exaggerations  that  were  so  abounding  among  us 
half  a  century  since,  are  giving  place  to  hypocrisy  of  an- 
other school.  The  homage  that  was  then  paid  to  princi- 
ples, however  erroneous  and  forbidding,  is  now  paid  to 
the  ballot-boxes.  There  was  scarcely  an  individual  around 
those  card  tables,  at  which  the  play  was  so  obviously  for 
the  stakes  as  to  render  the  whole  scene  revolting,  who 
would  not  have  shrunk  from  having  his  amusements 
known.  It  would  seem  as  if  conscience  consulted  taste. 
Everything  was  coarse  and  offensive  ;  the  attitudes,  oaths, 
conversation,  liquors,  and  even  the  manner  of  drinking 
them.  Apart  from  the  dialogue,  little  was  absolutely 
done  that  might  not  have  been  made  to  lose  most  of  its 
repulsiveness,  by  adopting  a  higher  school  of  manners  ; 
but  of  this  these  scions  of  a  noble  stock  knew  no  more 
than  they  did  of  the  parent  stem. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  both  Williams  and 
Timms  were  of  this  party.  The  relaxation  was,  in  fact,  in 
conformity  with  their  tastes  and  practices  ;  and  each  of 
these  excrescences  of  a  rich  and  beneficent  soil  counted  on 
the  meetings  in  Mrs.  Horton's  private  rooms,  as  the  more 
refined  seek  pleasure  in  the  exercise  of  their  tastes  and 
habits. 

"  I  say,  Timms,"  bawled  out  an  attorney  of  the  name  of 
Crooks,  "  you  play'd  a  trump,  sir — all  right — go  ahead — first 
rate — good  play,  that — ours  dead.  I  say,  Timms>  you're 
going  to  save  Mary  Monson's  neck.  When  I  came  here,  I 
thought  she  was  a  case  ;  but  the  prosecution  is  making  out 
miserably." 

"What  do  you  say  to  that,  Williams?"  put  in  Crooks's 
partner,  who  was  smoking,  playing,  and  drinking,  with  oc- 
casional "  asides  "  of  swearing,  all,  as  might  be,  at  the  same 
time.  "  I  trump  that,  sir,  by  your  leave — what  do  you  say 
to  that,  Williams  ? " 

"I  say  that  this  is  not  the  court ;  and  trying  such  a  cause 
once  ought  to  satisfy  a  reasonable  man." 

"  He's  afraid  of  showing  his  hand,  which  I  am  not,"  put 
in  another,  exposing  his  cards  as  he  spoke.  "Williams 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  303 

always  has  some  spare  trumps,  however,  to  get  him  out  of 
all  his  difficulties." 

"  Yes,  Williams  has  a  spare  trump,  and  there  it  is,  giving 
me  the  trick,"  answered  the  saucy  lawyer,  as  coolly  as  if  he 
had  been  engaged  in  an  inferior  slander-suit.  "  I  shall  be 
at  Timms  pretty  much  by  the  same  process  to-morrow." 

"  Then  you  will  do  more  than  you  have  done  to-day, 
Master  Williams.  This  Mrs.  Jane  Pope  may  be  a  trump, 
but  she  is  not  the  ace.  I  never  knew  a  witness  break  down 
more  completely." 

"  We'll  find  the  means  to  set  her  up  again — I  think  that 
knave  is  yours,  Green — yes,  I  now  see  my  game,  which  is 
to  take  it  with  the  queen — very  much,  Timms,  as  we  shall 
beat  you  to-morrow.  I  keep  my  trump  card  always  for 
the  last  play,  you  know." 

"Come,  come,  Williams,"  put  in  the  oldest  member  of 
the  bar,  a  men  whose  passions  were  cooled  by  time,  and 
who  had  more  gravity  than  most  of  his  companions. 
"  Come,  come,  Williams,  this  is  a  trial  for  a  life,  and  jok- 
ing is  a  little  out  of  place." 

"  I  believe  there  is  no  juror  present,  Mr.  Marvin,  which 
is  all  the  reserve  the  law  exacts." 

"Although  the  law  may  tolerate  this  levity,  feeling  will 
not.  The  prisoner  is  a  fine  young  woman  ;  and  for  my 
part,  though  I  wish  to  say  nothing  that  may  influence  any 
one's  opinion,  I  have  heard  nothing  yet  to  justify  an  in- 
dictment, much  less  a  conviction." 

Williams  laid  down  his  cards,  rose,  stretched  his  arms, 
gaped,  and  taking  Timms  by  the  arm,  he  led  the  latter 
from  the  room.  Not  content  with  this,  the  wary  limb  of 
the  law  continued  to  move  forward,  until  he  and  his  com- 
panion were  in  the  open  air. 

"  It  is  always  better  to  talk  secrets  outside  than  inside  of 
a  house,"  observed  Williams,  as  soon  as  they  were  at  a  safe 
distance  from  the  inn-door.  "It  is  not  too  late  yet,  Timms 
— you  must  see  how  weak  we  are,  and  how  bunglingly  the 
District  Attorney  has  led  off.  Half  those  jurors  will  sleep 
to-night  with  a  feeling  that  Mary  Monson  has  been  hardly 
dealt  by." 

"They  may  do  the  same  to-morrow  night,  and  every 
night  in  the  month,"  answered  Timms. 

"  Not  unless  the  arrangement  is  made.  We  have  testi- 
mony enough  to  hang  the  governor." 

"  Show  us  your  list  of  witnesses,  then,  that  we  may  judge 
:if  this  for  ourselves." 


304  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

"  That  would  never  do.  They  might  be  bought  off  for 
half  the  money  that  is  necessary  to  take  us  out  of  the  field. 
Five  thousand  dollars  can  be  no  great  matter  for  such  a 
woman  and  her  friends." 

"  Whom  do  you  suppose  to  be  her  friends,  Williams  ?  If 
you  know  them  you  are  better  informed  than  her  own 
counsel." 

"  Yes,  and  a  pretty  point  that  will  make  when  pressed 
against  you.  No,  no,  Timms  ;  your  client  has  been  ill- 
advised,  or  she  is  unaccountably  obstinate.  She  has  friends, 
although  you  may  not  know  who  they  are  ;  and  friends 
who  can,  and  who  would  very  promptly  help  her,  if  she 
would  consent  to  ask  their  assistance.  Indeed,  I  suspect 
she  has  cash  enough  on  hand  to  buy  us  off." 

"  Five  thousand  dollars  is  a  large  sum,  Williams,  and  is 
not  often  to  be  found  in  Biberry  jail.  But  if  Mary  Mon- 
son  has  these  friends,  name  them,  that  we  may  apply  for 
their  assistance." 

"  Harkee,  Timms  ;  you  are  not  a  man  so  ignorant  of 
what  is  going  on  in  the  world,  as  to  require  to  be  told  the 
letters  of  the  alphabet.  You  know  that  there  are  exten- 
sive associations  of  rogues  in  this  young  country,  as  well 
as  in  most  that  are  older." 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  Mary  Monson  and  our  case  ?" 

"  Everything.  This  Mary  Monson  has  been  sent  here 
to  get  at  the  gold  of  the  poor  old  dolt,  who  has  not  been 
able  to  conceal  her  treasure  after  it  was  hoarded.  She 
made  a  sub-treasury  of  her  stocking,  and  exhibited  the 
coin,  like  any  other  sub-treasurer.  Many  persons  like  to 
look  at  it,  just  to  feast  their  eyes." 

"  More  to  finger  it ;  and  you  are  of  the  number,  Wil- 
liams !  " 

"  I  admit  it.  The  weakness  is  general  in  the  profession, 
[  believe.  But  this  is  idle  talk,  and  we  are  losing  very 
precious  time.  Will  you,  or  will  you  not,  apply  again  to 
your  client  for  the  money  ? " 

"Answer  me,  candidly,  a  question  or  two,  and  I  will  do 
as  you  desire.  You  know,  Williams,  that  we  are  old  friends, 
and  never  had  any  serious  difficulty  since  we  have  been 
called  to  the  bar." 

"Oh,  assuredly,"  answered  Williams,  with  an  ironical 
smile,  that  it  might  have  been  fortunate  for  the  negotia- 
tion the  obscurity  concealed  from  his  companion  ;  "excel- 
lent friends  from  the  beginning,  Timms,  and  likely  to  con- 
tinue so,  I  trust,  to  the  last.  Men  who  know  each  other  as 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE    HOUR.  305 

well  as  you  and  I  ought  to  be  on  the  best  of  terms.  For 
my  part,  I  never  harbored  a  wrangle  at  the  bar  in  my 
mind  five  minutes  after  I  the  left  the  court.  Now  for  your 
question." 

"  You  surely  do  not  set  down  Mary  Monson  as  the  stool- 
pigeon  of  a  set  of  York  thieves  ! " 

"  Who,  or  what  else  can  she  be,  Mr.  Timms  ?  Better  ed- 
ucated, and  belonging  to  an  '  upper  ten  '  in  villany,  but  of 
a  company  of  rogues.  Now,  these  knaves  stand  by  each 
other  much  more  faithfully  than  the  body  of  the  citizens 
stand  by  the  law  ;  and  the  five  thousand  will  be  forthcom- 
ing for  the  asking." 

"Are  you  serious  in  wishing  me  to  believe  you  think  my 
client  guilty  ?" 

Here  Williams  made  no  bones  of  laughing  outright. 
It  is  true  that  he  suppressed  the  noise  immediately,  lest 
it  should  attract  attention  ;  but  laugh  he  did,  and  with 
right  good  will. 

"Come,  Timms,  you  have  asked  your  question,  and  I 
leave  you  to  answer  it  yourself.  One  thing  I  will  say,  how- 
ever, in  the  way  of  admonition,  which  is  this — we  shall 
make  out  such  a  case  against  her  to-morrow  as  would  hang 
a  governor,  as  I  have  already  told  you." 

"I  believe  you've  done  your  worst  already — why  not  let 
me  know  the  names  of  your  witnesses  ?" 

"  You  know  the  reason.  We  wish  the  whole  sum  our- 
selves, and  have  no  fancy  to  its  being  scattered  all  over 
Dukes.  I  give  you  my  honor,  Timms — and  you  know 
what  that  is — I  give  you  my  honor  that  we  hold  this  testi- 
mony in  reserve." 

"  In  which  case  the  district  attorney  will  bring  the  wit- 
nesses on  the  stand  ;  and  we  shall  gain  nothing,  after  all, 
by  your  withdrawal." 

"'The  district  attorney  has  left  the  case  very  much  to  me. 
I  have  prepared  his  brief,  and  have  taken  care  to  keep 
to  myself  enough  to  turn  the  scales.  If  I  quit,  Mary  Mon- 
son will  be  acquitted — if  I  stay,  she  will  be  hanged.  A 
pardon  for  her  will  be  out  of  the  question — she  is  too  high 
among  the  '  upper  ten  '  to  expect  that — besides,  she  is  not 
an  anti-renter." 

"  I  wonder  the  thieves  do  not  combine,  as  well  as  other 
folks,  and  control  votes  !  " 

"  They  do — these  anti-renters  belong  to  the  gangs,  and 
have  already  got  their  representatives  in  high  places. 
They  are  'land  uirates,'  while  your  client  goes  for  old 

''JO 


306  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

stockings.     The  difference  in  principle  is  by  no  means  im- 

Eortant,  as  any  clear-headed  man  may  see.  It  is  getting 
ite,  Timms." 

"  I  cannot  believe  that  Mary  Monson  is  the  sort  of  per- 
son you  take  her  for  !  Williams,  I've  always  looked  upon 
you,  and  treated  you,  as  a  friend.  You  may  remember 
how  I  stood  by  you  in  the  Middlebury  case?" 

"  Certainly — you  did  your  duty  by  me  in  that  matter, 
and  I  have  not  forgot  it." 

The  cause  alluded  to  was  an  action  for  a  "  breach  of 
promise,"  which,  at  one  time,  threatened  all  of  Williams's 
"future  usefulness,"  as  it  is  termed  ;  but  which  was  put  to 
sleep  in  the  end  by  means  of  Timms's  dexterity  in  manag- 
ing the  "outdoor  "  points  of  a  difficult  case. 

"Well,  then,  be  my  friend  in  this  matter.  I  will  be  hon- 
est with  you,  and  acknowledge  that,  as  regards  my  client, 
I  have  had — that  is  provided  she  is  acquitted,  and  her  char- 
acter comes  out  fair — that  I  have  had — and  still  have,  for 
that  matter — what " 

"  Are  called  '  ulterior  views.'  I  understand  you,  Timms, 
and  have  suspected  as  much  these  ten  days.  A  great  deal 
depends  on  what  you  consider  a  fair  character.  Taking 
the  best  view  of  her  situation,  Mary  Monson  will  have  been 
tried  for  murder  and  arson." 

"  Not  if  acquitted  of  the  first.  I  have  the  district  at- 
torney's promise  to  consent  to  a  nolle  prosequi  on  the  last 
indictment,  if  we  traverse  the  first  successfully." 

"  In  which  case  Mary  Monson  will  have  been  tried  for 
murder  only,"  returned  Williams,  smiling.  "  Do  you  really 
think,  Timms,  that  your  heart  is  soft  enough  to  receive 
and  retain  an  impression  as  deep  as  that  made  by  the  seal 
of  the  court?" 

"  If  I  thought,  as  you  do,  that  my  client  is  or  has  been 
connected  with  thieves,  and  burglars,  and  counterfeiters,  I 
would  not  think  of  her  for  a  moment  as  a  wife.  But  there 
is  a  vast  difference  between  a  person  overtaken  by  sudden 
temptation  and  one  who  sins  on  calculation,  and  by  regu- 
lar habit.  Now,  in  my  own  case,  I  sometimes  act  wrong 
— yes,  I  admit  as  much  as  that ' 

"  It  is  quite  unnecessary,"  said  Williams,  dryly. 

"  It  is  not  according  to  Christian  doctrine  to  visit  old 
offences  on  a  sinner's  head,  when  repentance  has  washed 
away  the  crime." 

"  Which  means,  Timms,  that  you  will  marry  Mary 
Monson,  although  she  may  be  guilty ;  provided  always 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  307 

that  two  very  important  contingencies  are  favorably  dis- 
posed of." 

"  What  contingencies  do  you  allude  to,  Williams  ?  I 
know  of  none." 

"One  is,  provided  she  will  have  you  ;  the  other  is,  pro- 
vided she  is  not  hanged." 

"  As  to  the  first,  I  have  no  great  apprehension  ;  women 
that  have  been  once  before  a  court,  on  a  trial  for  a  capital 
offence,  are  not  very  particular.  On  my  side,  it  will  be 
easy  enough  to  persuade  the  public  that,  as  counsel  in  a 
most  interesting  case,  I  became  intimately  acquainted  with 
her  virtues,  touched  by  her  misfortunes,  captivated  by  her 
beauty  and  accomplishments,  and  finally  overcome  by  her 
charms.  I  don't  think,  Williams,  that  such  an  explanation 
would  fail  of  its  effect,  before  a  caucus  even.  Men  are  al- 
ways favorably  disposed  to  those  they  think  worse  off  than 
they  are  themselves.  A  good  deal  of  capital  is  made  on 
that  principle." 

"  I  do  not  know  that  it  would.  Nowadays  the  elections 
generally  turn  more  on  public  principles  than  on  private 
conduct.  The  Americans  are  a  most  forgiving  people,  un- 
less you  tell  them  the  truth.  That  they  will  not  pardon." 

"  Nor  any  other  nation,  I  fancy.  Human  natur'  re- 
volts at  it.  But  that" — snapping  his  fingers — "for  your 
elections  ;  it  is  the  caucuses  that  I  lay  myself  out  to 
meet.  Give  me  the  nomination,  and  I  am  as  certain  of 
my  seat  as,  in  the  old  countries,  a  first-born  is  to  his  fath- 
er's throne." 

"  It  is  pretty  safe,  as  a  rule,  I  allow  ;  but  nominations 
sometimes  fail." 

"  Not  when  regular,  and  made  on  proper  principles.  A 
nomination  is  almost  as  good  as  popularity." 

"  Often  better  ;  for  men  are  just  asses  enough  to  work 
in  the  collar  of  party,  even  when  overloaded.  But  all  this 
time  the  night  is  wearing  away.  If  I  go  into  court  in  the 
morning  it  will  be  too  late.  This  thing  must  be  settled  at 
once,  and  that  in  a  very  explicit  manner." 

"  I  wish  I  knew  what  you  have  picked  up  concerning 
Mary  Monson's  early  life !  "  said  Timms,  like  a  man  strug- 
gling with  doubt. 

"  You  have  heard  the  rumor  as  well  as  myself.  Some 
say  she  is  a  wife  already  ;  while  others  think  her  a  rich 
widow.  My  opinion  you  know  ;  I  believe  her  to  be  the 
stool-pigeon  of  a  York  gang,  and  no  better  than  she  should 
be." 


3ofc  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

This  was  plain  language  to  be  addressed  to  a  lover  ;  and 
Williams  meant  it  to  be  so.  He  had  that  sort  of  regard 
for  Timms  which  proceeds  from  a  community  in  practices, 
and  was  disposed  to  regret  that  a  man  with  whom  he  had 
been  so  long  connected,  either  as  an  associate  or  an  an- 
tagonist, should  marry  a  woman  of  the  pursuits  that  he 
firmly  believed  marked  the  career  of  Mary  Monson. 

The  gentlemen  of  the  bar  are  no  more  to  be  judged  by 
appearances  than  the  rest  of  mankind.  They  will  wrangle, 
and  seem  to  be  at  sword's  points  with  each  other,  at  one 
moment  ;  when  the  next  may  find  them  pulling  together 
in  harmony  in  the  next  case  on  the  calendar.  It  was  under 
this  sort  of  feeling  that  Williams  had  a  species  of  friend- 
ship for  his  companion. 

"  I  will  try,  Williams,"  said  the  last,  turning  toward  the 
jail.  "  Yes,  I  will  make  one  more  trial." 

"  Do,  my  good  fellow — and,  Timms — remember  one 
thing ;  you  can  never  marry  a  woman  that  has  been 
hanged." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  time  is  precious  ;  I'll  about  it  straight. 

— Earl  of  Essex. 

THE  jail  presented  a  very  different  scene.  A  solemn  still- 
ness reigned  in  its  gallery  ;  and  even  good  Mrs.  Gott  had 
become  weary  with  the  excitement  of  the  day,  and  had  re- 
tired to  rest.  A  single  lamp  was  burning  in  the  cell  ;  and 
dark  forms  were  dimly  visible  in  the  passage,  without  the 
direct  influence  of  its  rays.  Two  were  seated,  while  a  third 
paced  the  stone  but  carpeted  pavement,  with  a  slow  and 
quiet  step.  The  first  were  the  shadowy  forms  of  Anna 
Updyke  and  Marie  Moulin  ;  the  last,  that  of  Mary  Mon- 
son. For  half  an  hour  the  prisoner  had  been  on  her  knees, 
praying  for  strength  to  endure  a  burden  that  surpassed 
her  expectations  ;  and,  as  is  usual  with  those  who  look 
above  for  aid,  more  especially  women,  she  was  reaping  the 
benefit  of  -her  petition.  Not  a  syllable  had  she  uttered, 
however,  since  quitting  the  cell.  Her  voice,  soft,  melo- 
dious, and  lady-like,  was  now  heard  for  the  first  time. 

"My  situation  is  most  extraordinary,  Anna,"  she  said 
"  it  proves  almost  too  much   for  my  strength  !     This  has 
been  a  terrible  day,  calm  as  I  may  have  appeared  ;  and  I 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  309 

fear  that  the  morrow  will  be  still  harder  to  be  borne.  There 
is  an  expression  about  the  eyes  of  that  man,  Williams,  that 
both  alarms  and  disgusts  me.  I  am  to  expect  in  him  a 
most  fiery  foe." 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  not  escape  from  scenes  for  which 
you  are  so  unsuited,  and  leave  this  saucy  Williams  to  him- 
self, and  his  schemes  of  plunder  ?  " 

"  That  would  not  do.  Several  sufficient  reasons  exist  for 
remaining.  Were  I  to  avail  myself  of  the  use  of  the  keys 
I  possess,  and  quit  the  jail  not  to  return,  good  Mrs.  Gott 
and  her  husband  would  probably  both  be  ruined.  Although 
they  are  ignorant  of  what  money  and  ingenuity  have  done 
for  me,  it  would  be  difficult  to  induce  the  world  to  believe 
them  innocent.  But  a  still  higher  reason  for  remaining  is 
the  vindication  of  my  own  character." 

"No  one  will  think  of  confounding  you  with  Mary  Mon- 
son  ;  and  by  going  abroad,  as  you  say  it  is  your  intention 
to  do,  you  would  effectually  escape  from  even  suspicion." 

"  You  little  know  the  world,  my  dear.  I  see  that  all  the 
useful  lessons  I  gave  you,  as  your  school-mamma,  are  al- 
ready forgotten.  The  six  years  between  us  in  age  have 
given  me  an  experience  that  tells  me  to  do  nothing  of  the 
sort.  Nothing  is  so  certain  to  follow  us  as  a  bad  name  ; 
though.the  good  one  is  easily  enough  forgotten.  As  Mary 
Monson,  I  am  indicted  for  these  grievous  crimes  ;  as  Mary 
Monson  will  I  be  acquitted  of  them.  I  feel  an  affection  for 
the  character,  and  shall  not  degrade  it  by  any  act  as  base 
as  that  of  flight." 

"  Why  not,  then,  resort  to  the  other  means  you  possess, 
and  gain  a  speedy  triumph  in  open  court?" 

As  Anna  put  this  question,  Mary  Monson  came  beneath 
the  light  and  stopped.  Her  handsome  face  was  in  full 
view,  and  her  friend  saw  an  expression  on  it  that  gave  her 
pain.  It  lasted  only  a  moment  ;  but  that  moment  was 
long  enough  to  induce  Anna  to  wish  she  had  not  seen  it. 
On  several  previous  occasions  this  same  expression  had 
rendered  her  uneasy  ;  but  the  evil  look  was  soon  forgot- 
ten in  the  quiet  elegance  of  manners  that  borrowed  charms 
from  a  countenance  usually  as  soft  as  the  evening  sky  in 
September.  Ere  she  resumed  her  walk,  Mary  Monson 
shook  her  head  in  dissent  from  the  proposition  of  her 
friend,  and  passed  on,  a  shadowy  but  graceful  form,  as  she 
went  down  the  gallery. 

"  It  would  be  premature,"  she  said,  "  and  I  should  fail 
uf  my  object.  I  will  not  rob  that  excellent  Mr.  Dunscomb 


3 io  THE   WAYS   OF  7 HE  HOUR. 

of  his  honest  triumph.  How  calm  and  gentlemanlike  he 
was  to-day  ;  yet  how  firm  and  prompt,  when  it  became 
necessary  to  show  these  qualities." 

"  Uncle  Tom  is  all  that  is  good  ;  and  we  love  him  as  we 
would  love  a  parent." 

A  pause  succeeded,  during  which  Mary  Monson  walked 
along  the  gallery  once,  in  profound  thought. 

"  Yours  promises  to  be  a  happy  future,  my  dear,"  she 
said.  "  Of  suitable  ages,  tempers,  stations,  country — yes, 
country  ;  for  an  American  woman  should  never  marry  a 
foreigner !  " 

Anna  Updyke  did  not  reply  ;  and  a  silence  succeeded 
that  was  interrupted  by  the  rattling  of  a  key  in  the  outer 
door. 

"  It  is  your  new  father,  Anna  ;  come  to  see  you  home. 
Thank  you,  kind-hearted  and  most  generous-minded  girl. 
I  feel  the  sacrifices  that  you  and  your  friend  are  making 
in  my  behalf,  and  shall  carry  the  recollection  of  them  to 
the  grave.  On  her,  I  had  no  claims  at  all  ;  and  on  you, 
but  those  that  are  very  slight.  You  have  been  to  me,  in- 
deed, most  excellent  friends,  and  a  great  support  when 
both  were  most  needed.  Of  my  own  sex,  and  of  the  same 
social  level,  I  do  not  now  see  how  I  should  have  got  on 
without  you.  Mrs.  Gott  is  kindness  and  goodnature 
themselves  ;  but  she  is  so  different  from  us  in  a  thousand 
things,  that  I  have  often  been  pained  by  it.  In  our  inter- 
course with  you,  how  different !  Knowing  so  much,  you 
pry  into  nothing.  Not  a  question,  not  a  look  to  embarrass 
me,  and  with  a  perfect  and  saint-like  reliance  on  my  in- 
nocence ;  were  I  a  sister,  your  support  could  not  be  more 
warm-hearted  or  firm." 

After  a  short  pause,  in  which  this  singular  young  woman 
smiled,  and  appeared  to  be  talking  to  herself,  she  con- 
tinued, after  kissing  her  companion  most  affectionately  for 
good-night,  and  walking  with  her  as  far  as  the  door  of  the 
gallery,  where  it  had  been  announced  that  the  doctor  was 
waiting  for  his  step-daughter  : 

"  I  wish  I  knew  whether  the  same  faith  goes  through  the 
connection— Mr.  John  Wilmeter?" 

"  Oh  !  He  is  persuaded  of  your  entire  innocence.  It 
was  he  who  excited  so  much  interest  in  me,  on  your  be- 
half, before  I  had  the  least  idea  of  our  having  ever  met 
before." 

"  He  is  a  noble-hearted  young  man,  and  has  many  ex- 
cellent qualities — a  little  romantic,  but  none  the  worse  for 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  311 

that,  my  dear,  as  you  will  find  in  the  end.  Alas  !  alas ! 
Those  marriages  that  are  made  over  a  rent-roll,  or  an  in- 
ventory, need  a  great  deal  of  something  very  different  from 
what  they  possess  to  render  them  happy  !  Mr.  Wilmeter 
has  told  me  that  no  evidence  could  make  him  believe  in  my 
guilt.  There  is  a  confidence  that  might  touch  a  woman's 
heart,  Anna,  did  circumstances  admit  of  such  a  thing.  I 
like  that  Michael  Millington,  too  ;  the  name  is  dear  to  me, 
as  is  the  race  of  which  he  comes.  No  matter  ;  the  world 
va  son  train,  let  us  regret  and  repine  as  we  -may.  And  Uncle 
Tom,  Anna — what  do  you  think  of  his  real  opinion  ?  Is  it 
in  my  favor  or  not  ? " 

Anna  Updyke  had  detected  in  Dunscomb  a  disposition 
to  doubt,  and  was  naturally  averse  to  communicating  a 
fact  so  unpleasant  to  her  friend.  Kissing  the  latter  affec- 
tionately, she  hurried  away  to  meet  McBrain,  already  wait- 
ing for  her  without.  In  quitting  the  dwelling  of  the  build- 
ing annexed  to  the  jail,  the  doctor  and  Anna  met  Timms 
hurrying  forward  to  seek  an  interview  with  his  client  be- 
fore she  retired  to  rest.  An  application  at  once  obtained 
permission  for  the  limb  of  the  law  to  enter. 

"  I  have  come,  Miss  Mary,"  as  Timms  now  called  his 
client,  "on  what  I  fear  will  prove  a  useless  errand;  but 
which  I  have  thought  it  my  duty  to  see  performed,  as  your 
best  friend,  and  one  of  your  legal  advisers.  You  have 
already  heard  what  I  had  to  say  on  the  subject  of  a  certain 
proposal  of  the  next  of  kin  to  withdraw  from  the  prosecu- 
tion, which  will  carry  with  him  this  Williams,  with  whom 
I  should  think  you  would,  by  this  time,  be  heartily  dis- 
gusted. I  come  now  to  say  that  this  offer  is  repeated  with 
a  good  deal  of  emphasis,  and  that  you  have  still  an  oppor- 
tunity of  lessening  the  force  that  is  pressing  on  your  in- 
terests by  at  least  one-half.  Williams  may  well  count  for 
more  than  half  of  the  vigor  and  shrewdness  of  what  is 
doing  for  the  State  in  your  case." 

"  The  proposal  must  be  more  distinctly  made,  and  you 
must  let  me  have  a  clear  view  of  what  is  expected  from  me, 
Mr.  Timms,  before  I  can  give  any  reply,"  said  Mary  Mon- 
son.  "  But  you  may  wish  to  be  alone  with  me  before  you 
are  more  explicit.  I  will  order  my  woman  to  go  into  the 
cell." 

"  It  might  be  more  prudent  were  we  to  go  into  the  cell 
ourselves,  and  leave  your  domestic  outside.  These  gal- 
leries carry  sounds  like  ear-trumpets,  and  we  never  know 
who  may  be  our  next  neighbor  in  a  jail." 


3 12  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

Mary  Monson  quietly  assented  to  the  proposal,  calling 
to  her  woman  in  French  to  remain  outside,  in  the  dark, 
while  she  profited  by  the  light  of  the  lamp  in  the  cell. 
Timms  followed,  and  closed  the  door. 

In  size,  form,  and  materials,  the  cell  of  Mary  Monson 
was  necessarily  like  that  of  every  other  inmate  of  the  jail. 
Its  sides,  top,  and  bottom,  were  of  massive  stones  ;  the  two 
last  being  flags  of  great  dimensions.  But  taste  and  money 
had  converted  even  this  place  into  an  apartment  that  was 
comfortable  in  all  respects  but  that  of  size.  Two  cells 
opening  on  the  section  of  gallery  that  the  consideration  of 
Mrs.  Gott  had  caused  to  be  screened  off,  and  appropriated 
to  the  exclusive  use  of  the  fair  prisoner,  one  had  been  fur- 
nished as  a  sleeping  apartment,  while  that  in  which  Timms 
was  now  received  had  more  the  air  of  a  sort  of  boudoir.  It 
was  well  carpeted,  like  all  the  rest  of  what  might  be  termed 
the  suite  ;  and  had  a  variety  of  those  little  elegancies  that 
women  of  cultivated  tastes  and  ample  means  are  almost 
certain  to  gather  about  them.  The  harp  which  had  oc- 
casioned so  much  scandal,  as  well  as  a  guitar,  stood  near 
by,  and  chairs,  of  different  forms  and  various  degrees  of 
comfort,  crowded  the  room,  perhaps  to  superfluity.  As 
this  was  the  first  time  Timms  had  been  admitted  to  the 
cell,  he  was  all  eyes,  gazing  about  him  at  the  numerous 
signs  of  wealth  it  contained  with  inward  satisfaction.  It 
was  a  minute  after  he  was  desired  to  be  seated  before  he 
could  comply,  so  lively  was  the  curiosity  to  be  appeased. 
It  was  during  this  minute  that  Marie  Moulin  lighted  four 
candles,  that  were  already  arranged  in  bronzed  candle- 
sticks, making  a  blaze  of  light  for  that  small  room.  These 
candles  were  of  spermaceti,  the  ordinary  American  substi- 
tute for  wax.  Nothing  that  he  then  saw,  or  had  ever  seen 
in  his  intercourse  with  his  client,  so  profoundly  impressed 
Timms  as  this  luxury  of  light.  Accustomed  himself  to 
read  and  write  by  a  couple  of  small  inferior  articles  in  tal- 
low, when  he  did  not  use  a  lamp,  there  seemed  to  be  some- 
thing regal  to  his  unsophisticated  imagination  in  this  dis- 
play of  brilliancy. 

Whether  Mary  Monson  had  a  purpose  to  answer  in  giv- 
ing Timms  so  unusual  a  reception,  we  shall  leave  the 
reader  to  discover  by  means  of  his  own  sagacity ;  but  cir- 
cumstances might  well  lead  one  to  the  conclusion  that  she 
had.  There  was  a  satisfied  look,  as  she  glanced  around 
the  cell  and  surveyed  its  arrangements,  that  possibly  led 
fairly  enough  to  such  an  inference.  Nevertheless,  her  de- 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  313 

meaner  was  perfectly  quiet,  betraying  none  of  the  fidget- 
ing uneasiness  of  an  underbred  person,  lest  all  might  not 
be  right.  Every  arrangement  was  left  to  the  servant ;  and 
when  Marie  Moulin  finally  quitted  the  cell  and  closed  the 
door  behind  her,  every  thought  of  the  apartment  and  what 
it  contained  seemed  to  vanish  from  the  mind  of  her  ex- 
traordinary mistress. 

"  Before  you  proceed  to  communicate  the  purpose  of 
your  visit,  Mr.  Timms,"  Mary  Monson  said,  "I  shall  ask 
permission  to  put  a  few  questions  of  my  own,  touching  the 
state  of  our  cause.  Have  we  gained  or  lost  by  this  day's 
proceedings  ?" 

"  Most  clearly  gained,  as  every  man  at  the  bar  will  con- 
firm by  his  opinion." 

"That  has  been  my  own  way  of  thinking;  and  I  am 
glad  to  hear  it  corroborated  by  such  competent  judges.  I 
confess  the  prosecution  does  not  seem  to  me  to  show  the 
strength  it  really  possesses.  This  Jane  Pope  made  a  miser- 
able blunder  about  the  piece  of  coin." 

"  She  has  done  the  other  side  no  great  good,  certainly." 

"  How  stands  the  jury,  Mr.  Timms  ?" 

Although  this  question  was  put  so  directly,  Timms  heard 
it  with  uneasiness.  Nor  did  he  like  the  expression  of 
Mary  Monson's  eyes,  which  seemed  to  regard  him  with  a 
keenness  that  might  possibly  imply  distrust.  But  it  was 
necessary  to  answer,  though  he  did  so  with  caution,  and 
with  a  due  regard  to  his  own  safety. 

"It  is  pretty  well,"  he  said,  "  though  not  quite  as  much 
opposed  to  capital  punishment  as  I  had  hoped  for.  We 
challenged  off  one  of  the  sharpest  chaps  in  the  county, 
and  have  got  in  his  place  a  man  who  is  pretty  much  under 
my  thumb." 

"  And  the  stories — the  reports — have  they  been  well  cir- 
culated ?" 

"A  little  too  well,  I'm  afraid.  That  concerning  your 
having  married  a  Frenchman,  and  having  run  away  from 
him,  has  gone  through  all  the  lower  towns  of  Dukes  like 
wildfire.  It  has  even  reached  the  ears  of  Squire  Dunscomb. 
and  will  be  in  the  York  papers  to-morrow." 

A  little  start  betrayed  the  surprise  of  the  prisoner  ;  and 
a  look  accompanied  it  which  would  seem  to  denote  dissat- 
isfaction that  a  tale  put  in  circulation  by  herself,  as  it  would 
now  appear,  had  gone  quite  so  far. 

"  Mr.  Dunscomb !  "  she  repeated,  musingly.  "  Anna  Up- 
dyke's  Uncle  Tom  ;  and  one  whom  such  a  story  may  very 


3I4  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

well  set  thinking.     I  wish  it  had  not  reached  him,  of  al! 
men,  Mr.  Timms." 

"  If  I  may  judge  of  his  opinions  by  some  little  acts  and 
expressions  that  have  escaped  him,  I  am  inclined  to  think 
he  believes  the  story  to  be,  in  the  main,  true." 

Mary  Monson  smiled  ;  and,  as  was  much  her  wont  when 
thinking  intensely,  her  lips  moved  ;  even  a  low  muttering 
became  audible  to  a  person  as  near  as  her  companion  then 
was. 

"  It  is  now  time,  Mr.  Timms,  to  set  the  other  story  in 
motion,"  she  said,  quickly.  "  Let  one  account  follow  the 
other  ;  that  will  distract  people's  belief.  We  must  be  active 
in  this  matter." 

"  There  is  less  necessity  for  our  moving  in  the  affair,  as 
Williams  has  got  a  clew  to  it,  by  some  means  or  other ;  and 
his  men  will  spread  it  far  and  near,  long  before  the  cause 
goes  to  the  jury." 

"  That  is  fortunate  ! "  exclaimed  the  prisoner,  actually 
clapping  her  pretty  gloved  hands  together  in  delight.  "A 
story  as  terrible  as  that  must  react  powerfully,  when  its 
falsehood  comes  to  be  shown.  I  regard  that  tale  as  the 
cleverest  of  all  our  schemes,  Mr.  Timms." 

"  Why — yes — that  is — I  think,  Miss  Mary,  it  may  be  set 
down  as  the  boldest" 

"  And  this  saucy  Williams,  as  you  call  him,  has  got  hold 
of  it  already,  and  believes  it  true  ? " 

"  It  is  not  suprising ;  there  are  so  many  small  and  prob- 
able facts  accompanying  it." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  what  Shakespeare  calls  such  an 
invention,  Mr.  Timms?"  said  Mary  Monson,  smiling. 

"  I  am  not  particularly  acquainted  with  that  author, 
ma'am  ;  I  know  there  was  such  a  writer,  and  that  he  was 
thought  a  good  deal  of,  in  his  day  ;  but  I  can't  say  I  have 
ever  read  him." 

The  beautiful  prisoner  turned  her  large,  expressive  blue 
eyes  on  her  companion  with  a  gaze  of  wonder  ;  but  her 
breeding  prevented  her  from  uttering  what  she  certainly 
thought  and  felt. 

"Shakespeare  is  a  writer  very  generally  esteemed,"  she 
answered,  after  one  moment  of  muttering,  and  one  moment 
to  control  herself  ;  ''  I  believe  he  is  commonly  placed  at 
the  head  of  our  English  literature,  if  not  at  the  head  of 
that  of  all  times  and  nations — Homer,  perhaps,  excepted." 

"What  !  higher,  do  you  think,  Miss  Mary,  than  Black 
stone  and  Kent  ?  " 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  315 

"  Those  are  authors  of  whom  I  know  nothing,  Mr.  Timms  ; 
but  now,  sir,  I  will  listen  to  your  errand  here  to-night." 

"  It  is  the  old  matter.  Williams  has  been  talking  to  me 
again,  touching  the  five  thousand  dollars." 

"  Mr.  Williams  has  my  answer.  If  five  thousand  cents 
would  buy  him  off,  he  should  not  receive  them  from  me." 

This  was  said  with  a  frown  ;  and  then  it  was  that  the  ob- 
server had  an  opportunity  of  tracing,  in  a  face  otherwise  so 
lovely,  the  lines  that  indicate  self-will,  and  a  spirit  not 
easily  controlled.  Alas,  that  woman  should  ever  so  mis- 
take their  natural  means  to  influence  and  guide,  as  to  have 
recourse  to  the  exercise  of  agents  that  they  rarely  wield 
with  effect,  and  ever  with  a  sacrifice  of  womanly  character 
and  womanly  grace.  The  person  who  would  draw  the  sex 
from  the  quiet  scenes  that  they  so  much  embellish,  to 
mingle  in  the  strifes  of  the  world  ;  who  would  place  them 
in  stations  that  nature  has  obviously  intended  men  should 
occupy,  is  not  their  real  friend,  any  more  than  the  weak 
adviser  who  resorts  to  reputed  specifics  when  the  knife 
alone  can  effect  a  cure.  The  Creator  intended  woman  for 
a  "help-meet,"  and  not  for  the  head  of  the  family  circle  ; 
and  most  fatally  ill-judging  are  the  laws  that  would  fain 
disturb  the  order  of  a  domestic  government,  which  is 
directly  derived  from  divine  wisdom  as  from  divine  benevo- 
lence. 

"  I  told  him  as  much,  Miss  Mary,"  answered  Timms  ; 
"  but  he  does  not  seem  disposed  to  take  '  no  '  for  an  answer. 
Williams  has  the  true  scent  for  a  dollar." 

"  I  am  quite  certain  of  an  acquittal,  Mr.  Timms  ;  and 
having  endured  so  much,  and  hazarded  so  much,  I  do  not 
like  to  throw  away  the  triumph  of  my  approaching  vic- 
tory. There  is  a  powerful  excitement  in  my  situation  ; 
and  I  like  excitement  to  weakness,  perhaps.  No,  no  ;  my 
success  must  not  be  tarnished  by  any  such  covert  bargain. 
I  will  not  listen  to  the  proposal  for  an  instant !  " 

"  I  understand  that  the  raising  of  the  sum  required 
would  form  no  particular  obstacle  to  the  arrangement  ? " 
asked  Timms,  in  a  careless  sort  of  way,  that  was  intended 
to  conceal  the  real  interest  he  took  in  the  reply. 

"  None  at  all.  The  money  might  be  in  his  hands  before 
the  court  sits  in  the  morning,  but  it  never  shall  be,  as 
coming  from  me.  Let  Mr.  Williams  know  this  definitely  ; 
and  tell  him  to  do  his  worst." 

Timms  was  a  little  surprised,  and  a  good  deal  uneasy  at 
this  manifestation  of  a  spirit  of  defiance,  which  could  pro- 


3*6  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

duce  no  good,  and  which  might  be  productive  of  evil. 
While  he  was  delighted  to  hear,  for  the  fourth  or  fifth  time, 
how  easy  it  would  be  for  his  fair  client  to  command  a  sum 
as  large  as  that  demanded,  he  secretly  determined  not  to 
let  the  man  who  had  sent  him  on  his  present  errand  know 
the  temper  in  which  it  had  been  received.  Williams  was 
sufficiently  dangerous  as  it  was  ;  and  he  saw  all  the  hazard 
of  giving  him  fresh  incentives  to  increase  his  exertions, 

"  And  now,  as  this  matter  is  finally  disposed  of,  Mr, 
Timms — for  I  desire  that  it  may  not  be  again  mentioned  to 
me,"  resumed  the  accused,  "  let  us  say  a  word  more  on  the 
subject  of  our  new  report.  Your  agent  has  set  on  foot  a 
story  that  I  belong  to  a  gang  of  wretches  who  are  com- 
bined to  prey  on  society  ;  and  that,  in  this  character,  I 
came  into  Dukes,  to  carry  out  one  of  its  nefarious 
schemes  ?" 

"  That  is  the  substance  of  the  rumor  we  have  started  at 
your  own  desire  ;  though  I  could  wish  it  were  not  quite  so 
strong,  and  that  there  were  more  time  for  the  reaction." 

"  The  strength  of  the  rumor  is  its  great  merit  ;  and,  as 
for  time,  we  have  abundance  for  our  purposes.  Reaction 
is  the  great  power  of  popularity,  as  I  have  heard  again 
and  again.  It  is  always  the  most  effective,  too,  at  the  turn 
of  the  tide.  Let  the  public  once  get  possessed  with  the 
notion  that  a  rumor  so  injurious  has  been  in  circulation  at 
the  expense  of  one  in  my  cruel  condition,  and  the  current 
of  feeling  will  set  the  other  way  in  a  torrent  that  nothing 
can  arrest !  " 

"  I  take  the  idea,  Miss  Mary,  which  is  well  enough  for 
certain  cases,  but  a  little  too  hazardous  for  this.  Suppose 
it  should  be  ascertained  that  this  report  came  from  us  ? " 

"  It  never  can  be,  if  the  caution  I  directed  was  observed. 
You  have  not  neglected  my  advice,  Mr.  Timms  ?  " 

The  attorney  had  not ;  and  great  had  been  his  surprise 
at  the  ingenuity  and  finesse  manifested  by  this  singular 
woman,  in  setting  afloat  a  report  that  would  certainly  act 
to  her  injury,  unless  arrested  and  disproved  at  a  moment 
most  critical  in  her  future  fate.  Nevertheless,  in  obedi- 
ence to  Mary  Monson's  positive  commands,  this  very  bold 
measure  had  been  undertaken  ;  and  Timms  was  waiting 
with  impatience  for  the  information  by  means  of  which  he 
was  to  counteract  these  self-inflicted  injuries,  and  make 
them  the  instruments  of  good  on  the  reaction. 

If  that  portion  of  society  which  takes  delight  in  gossip 
could  be  m^de  to  understand  the  real  characters  of  those 


THE   WAYS   OF    THE   HOUR.  317 

to  whom  they  commit  the  control  of  their  opinions,  not  to 
say  principles,  there  would  be  far  more  of  reserve  and  self- 
respect  observed  in  the  submission  to  this  social  evil  than 
there  is  at  present.  Malice,  the  inward  impulses  of  the 
propagators  of  a  lie,  and  cupidity,  are  at  the  bottom  of 
half  the  tales  that  reach  our  ears  ;  and  in  those  cases  in 
which  the  world  in  its  ignorance  fancies  it  has  some  au- 
thority for  what  it  says,  it  as  often  happens  that  some  hid- 
den motive  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  exhibition  as  the  one 
which  seems  so  apparent.  There  are  a  set  of  vulgar  vices 
that  may  be  termed  the  "  stereotyped,"  they  lie  so  near  the 
surface  of  human  infirmities.  They  who  are  most  subject 
to  their  influence  always  drag  these  vices  first  into  the 
arena  of  talk  ;  and  fully  one-half  of  that  of  this  nature 
which  we  hear,  has  its  origin  as  much  in  the  reflective  nat- 
ure of  the  gossip's  own  character,  as  in  any  facts  truly  con- 
nected with  the  acts  of  the  subjects  of  his  or  her  stories. 

But  Mary  Monson  was  taking  a  far  higher  flight  than 
the  circulation  of  an  injurious  rumor.  She  believed  her- 
self to  be  putting  on  foot  a  master-stroke  of  policy.  In 
her  intercourse  with  Timms,  so  much  was  said  of  the  power 
of  opinion,  that  she  had  passed  hours,  nay  days,  in  the 
study  of  the  means  to  control  and  counteract  it.  Whence 
she  obtained  her  notion  of  the  virtue  of  reaction  it  might 
not  be  easy  to  say,  but  her  theory  was  not  without  its 
truth,  and  it  is  certain  that  her  means  of  producing  it 
were  of  remarkable  simplicity  and  ingenuity. 

Having  settled  the  two  preliminaries  of  the  rumor  and 
of  Williams's  proposition,  Timms  thought  the  moment  fav- 
orable to  making  a  demonstration  in  his  own  affairs.  Love 
he  did  not  yet  dare  to  propose  openly,  though  he  had  now 
been,  for  some  time,  making  covert  demonstrations  toward 
the  tender  passion.  In  addition  to  the  motive  of  cupidity, 
one  of  great  influence  with  such  a  man,  Timms's  heart,  such 
as  it  was,  had  really  yielded  to  the  influence  of  a  beauty, 
manners,  accomplishments,  and  information,  all  of  a  class 
so  much  higher  than  he  had  been  accustomed  to  meet  with, 
as  to  be  subjects  of  wonder  with  him,  not  to  say  of  adora- 
tion. This  man  had  his  affections  as  well  as  another ;  and, 
while  John  Wilmeter  had  submitted  to  a  merely  passing- 
inclination,  as  much  produced  by  the  interest  he  took  in 
an  unknown  female's  situation  as  by  any  other  cause,  poor 
Timms  had  been  hourly  falling  more  and  more  in  love.  It 
is  a  tribute  to  nature  that  this  passion  can  be,  and  is,  felt 
by  all.  Although  a  purifying  sentiment,  the  corrupt  and 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 


impure  can  feel  its  power,  and,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree, 
submit  to  its  influence,  though  their  homage  may  be  taint- 
ed by  the  grosser  elements  that  are  so  largely  mixed  up 
with  the  compound  of  their  characters.  We  may  have  oc' 
casion  to  show  hereafter  how  far  the  uncouth  attorney  of 
Mary  Monson  succeeded  in  his  suit  with  his  fair  client. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

I  challenge  envy, 

Malice,  and  all  the  practices  of  hell, 

To  censure  all  the  actions  of  my  past 

Unhappy  life,  and  taint  me  if  they  can. — The  Orphan. 

IT  is  to  be  presumed  that  Timms  found  the  means  to 
communicate  to  Williams  the  rejection  of  the  latter's  offer, 
before  the  court  met  next  morning.  It  is  certain  that  the 
counsel  associated  with  the  attorney-general  manifested 
unusual  zeal  in  the  performance  of  duties  that  most  men 
would  have  found  unpleasant,  if  not  painful,  and  that  he 
was  captious,  short,  and  ill-natured.  Just  as  Mary  Monson 
came  within  the  bar,  a  letter  was  put  into  the  hands  of 
Dunscomb,  who  quietly  broke  the  seal,  and  read  it  twice, 
as  the  observant  Timms  fancied  ;  then  put  it  in  his  pocket, 
with  a  mien  so  undisturbed  that  no  mere  looker-on  would 
have  suspected  its  importance.  The  letter  was  from  Mil- 
lington,  and  it  announced  a  general  want  of  success  in  his 
mission.  The  whereabouts  of  M.  de  Larocheforte  could 
not  be  ascertained  ;  and  those  who  knew  anything  about 
his  movements  were  of  opinion  that  he  was  travelling  in  the 
West,  accompanied  by  his  fair,  accomplished,  and  affluent 
young  consort.  None  of  those  who  would  naturally  have 
heard  of  such  an  event,  had  it  occurred,  could  say  there 
had  ever  been  a  separation  between  the  French  husband 
and  the  American  wife.  Millington,  himself,  had  never 
seen  his  kinswoman,  there  being  a  coolness  of  long  stand- 
ing between  the  two  branches  of  the  family,  and  could  give 
little  or  no  information  on  the  subject.  In  a  word,  he 
could  discover  nothing  to  enable  him  to  carry  out  the  clew 
obtained  in  the  rumor ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  he  found 
a  certain  set,  who  occupied  themselves  a  good  deal  with 
intelligence  of  that  sort,  were  greatly  disposed  to  believe 
the  report,  set  on  foot  by  herself,  that  Mary  Monson  was  a 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  319 

stool-pigeon  of  a  gang  of  marauders,  and  doubtless  guilty 
of  everything  of  which  she  had  been  accused.  Millington 
would  remain  in  town,  however,  another  day,  and  endeavor 
to  push  his  inquiries  to  some  useful  result.  Cool,  clear- 
headed, and  totally  without  romance,  Dunscomb  knew 
that  a  better  agent  than  his  young  friend  could  not  be 
employed,  and  was  fain  to  wait  patiently  for  the  discov 
cries  he  might  eventually  succeed  in  making.  In  the 
meantime  the  trial  proceeded. 

"  Mr.  Clerk,"  said  his  honor,  "  let  the  jury  be  called." 

This  was  done,  and  Mary  Monson's  lips  moved,  while  a 
lurking  smile  lighted  her  countenance,  as  her  eyes  met  the 
sympathy  that  was  expressed  in  the  countenances  of  several 
of  the  grave  men  who  had  been  drawn  as  arbiters,  in  her 
case,  between  life  and  death.  To  her  it  was  apparent  that 
her  sex,  her  youth,  perhaps  her  air  and  beauty,  stood  her 
friends,  and  that  she  might  largely  count  on  the  compas- 
sion of  that  small  but  important  body  of  men.  One  of  her 
calculations  had  succeeded  to  the  letter.  The  tale  of  her 
being  a  stool-pigeon  had  been  very  actively  circulated, 
with  certain  additions  and  embellishments  that;  it  was  very 
easy  to  disprove  ;  and  another  set  of  agents  had  been  hard 
at  work,  all  the  morning,  in  brushing  away  such  of  the 
collateral  circumstances  as  had,  at  first,  been  produced  to 
confirm  the  main  story,  and  which,  in  now  being  pulled  to 
pieces  as  of  no  account,  did  not  fail  to  cast  a  shade  of  the 
darkest  doubt  over  the  whole  rumor.  All  this  Mary  Mon- 
son  probably  understood,  and  understanding,  enjoyed  ;  a 
vein  of  wild  wilfulness  certainly  running  through  her 
character,  leading  in  more  directions  than  one. 

"  I  hope  there  will  be"  no  delay  on  account  of  witnesses," 
observed  the  judge.  "  Time  is  very  precious." 

"We  are  armed  at  all  points,  your  honor,  and  intend  to 
bring  the  matter  to  an  early  conclusion,"  answered  Wil- 
liams, casting  one  of  those  glances  at  the  prisoner  which 
had  obtained  for  him  the  merited  sobriquet  of  "  saucy." 
"  Crier,  call  Samuel  Burton." 

Timms  fairly  started.  This  was  breaking  ground  in  a 
new  spot,  and  was  producing  testimony  from  a  source  that 
he  much  dreaded.  The  Burtons  had  been  the  nearest 
neighbors  of  the  Goodwins,  and  were  so  nearly  on  a  social 
level  with  them,  as  to  live  in  close  and  constant  communi- 
cation. These  Burtons  consisted  of  the  man,  his  wife,  and 
three  maiden  sisters.  At  one  time,  the  last  had  conversed 
much  on  the  subject  of  the  murders  ;  but,  to  Timms's  great 


320  TH£  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

discontent,  they  had  been  quite  dumb  of  late.  This  had 
prevented  his  putting  in  practice  a  method  of  anticipating 
testimony,  that  is  much  in  vogue,  and  which  he  had  de- 
liberately attempted  with  these  sometime  voluble  females. 
As  the  reader  may  not  be  fully  initiated  in  the  mysteries 
of  that  sacred  and  all-important  master  of  the  social  rela- 
tions, the  law,  we  shall  set  forth  the  manner  in  which 
justice  is  often  bolstered,  when  its  interests  are  cared  for 
by  practitioners  of  the  Timms  and  Williams  school. 

No  sooner  is  it  ascertained  that  a  particular  individual 
has  a  knowledge  of  an  awkward  fact,  than  these  worthies 
of  the  bar  set  to  work  to  extract  the  dangerous  information 
from  him.  This  is  commonly  attempted,  and  often  effected, 
by  inducing  the  witness  to  relate  what  he  knows,  and  by 
leading  him  on  to  make  statements  that,  on  being  sworn  to 
in  court,  will  either  altogether  invalidate  his  testimony,  or 
throw  so  much  doubt  on  it  as  to  leave  it  of  very  little  value. 
As  the  agents  employed  to  attain  this  end  are  not  very 
scrupulous,  there  is  great  danger  that  their  imaginations 
may  supply  the  defects  in  the  statements,  and  substitute 
words  and  thoughts  that  the  party  never  uttered.  It  is  so 
easy  to  mistake  another's  meaning,  with  even  the  best 
intentions,  that  we  are  not  to  be  surprised  if  this  should 
seriously  happen  when  the  disposition  is  to  mislead.  With 
the  parties  to  suits,  this  artifice  is  often  quite  successful, 
admissions  being  obtained,  or  supposed  to  be  obtained, 
that  they  never,  for  an  instant,  intended  to  make.  In  the 
States  where  speculation  has  cornered  men,  and  left  them 
loaded  with  debt,  these  devices  of  the  eaves-droppers  and 
suckers  are  so  common,  as  to  render  their  testimony  no 
immaterial  feature  in  nearly  every  cause  of  magnitude  that 
is  tried.  In  such  a  state  of  society  it  is,  indeed,  unsafe 
for  a  suitor  to  open  his  lips  on  his  affairs,  lest  some  one 
near  him  be  employed  to  catch  up  his  words,  and  carry 
them  into  court  with  shades  of  meaning  gathered  from  his 
own  imagination. 

At  first,  Timms  was  under  the  impression  that  the  Bur- 
tons wTere  going  to  sustain  the  defence,  and  he  was  placing 
himself  on  the  most  amiable  footing  with  the  females,  three 
of  whom  might  very  reasonably  be  placed  within  the  cate- 
gory of  matrimony  with  this  rising  lawyer  ;  but  it  was  not 
long  ere  he  ascertained  that  Williams  was  getting  to  be  in- 
timate, and  had  proved  to  be  a  successful  rival.  Davis, 
the  nephew  and  heir  of  the  Goodwins,  was  a  single  man, 
too,  and  it  is  probable  that  his  frequent  visits  to  the  dwell- 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  321 

ing  of  the  Burtons  had  a  beneficial  influence  on  his  own 
interests.  Let.  the  cause  be  what  it  might,  the  effect  was 
clearly  to  seal  the  lips  of  the  whole  family,  not  a  member 
of  which  could  be  induced,  by  any  art  practised  by  the 
agents  of  Timms,  to  utter  a  syllable  on  a  subject  that  now 
really  seemed  to  be  forbidden.  When,  therefore,  Burton 
appeared  on  the  stand,  and  was  sworn,  the  two  counsel 
for  the  defence  waited  for  him  to  open  his  lips,  with  a  pro- 
found and  common  interest. 

Burton  knew  the  deceased,  had  lived  all  his  life  near 
them,  was  at  home  the  night  of  the  fire,  went  to  assist  the 
old  people,  saw  the  two  skeletons,  had  no  doubt  they  were 
the  remains  of  Peter  Goodwin  and  his  wife  ;  observed  the 
effects  of  a  heavy  blow  across  the  foreheads  of  each,  the 
same  that  was  still  to  be  seen  ;  inferred  that  this  blow  had 
destroyed  them,  or  so  far  stunned  them  as  to  leave  them 
incapable  of  escaping  from  the  fire. 

This  witness  was  then  questioned  on  the  subject  of  the 
stocking,  and  Mrs.  Goodwin's  hoard  of  money.  He  had 
seen  the  stocking  but  once,  had  often  heard  it  mentioned 
by  his  sisters  ;  did  not  think  his  wife  had  ever  alluded  to  it ; 
did  not  know  the  amount  of  gold,  but  supposed  it  might 
be  very  considerable  ;  saw  the  bureau  examined,  and  knew 
that  the  stocking  could  riot  be  found.  In  a  word,  his  tes- 
timony in  chief  went  generally  to  sustain  the  impression 
that  prevailed  relative  to  the  murders,  though  it  is  unnec- 
essary to  repeat  it  in  this  form,  as  the  cross-examination 
will  better  explain  his  statements  and  opinions. 

"Mr.  Burton,"  said  Dunscomb,  "  you  knew  the  Good- 
wins well  ?" 

"  Very  well,  sir.  As  well  as  near  neighbors  generally 
know  each  other." 

"  Can  you  swear  that  these  are  the  skeletons  of  Peter 
and  Dorothy  Goodwin  ? " 

"  I  can  swear  that  I  believe  them  to  be  such — have  no 
doubt  of  the  fact." 

"  Point  out  that  which  you  suppose  to  be  the  skeleton 
of  Peter  Goodwin." 

This  request  embarrassed  the  witness.  In  common  with 
all  around  him,  he  had  no  other  clew  to  his  facts  than  the 
circumstances  under  which  these  vestiges  of  mortality  had 
been  found,  and  he  did  not  know  what  ought  to  be  his  reply. 

"I  suppose  the   shortest  of  the  skeletons  to  be  Peter 
Goodwin's,  and  the  longest  that  of  his  wife,"  he  at  length 
answered.     "  Peter  was  not  as  tall  as  Dorothy." 
21 


322  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

"  Which  is  the  shortest  of  these  remains  ?" 

"  That  I  could  not  say,  without  measuring.  I  know 
that  Goodwin  was  not  as  tall  as  his  wife  by  half  an  inch, 
for  I  have  seen  them  measured." 

"  Then  you  would  say  that,  in  your  opinion,  the  longest 
of  these  two  skeletons  is  that  of  Dorothy  Goodwin,  and 
the  shortest  that  of  her  husband  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  that  is  my  opinion — formed  to  the  best  of  my 
knowledge.  I  have  seen  them  measured." 

"Was  this  measurement  accurate  ?" 

"Very  much  so.  They  used  to  dispute  about  their 
height,  and  they  measured  several  times,  when  I  was  by  ; 
generally  in  their  stocking  feet,  and  once  barefoot." 

"The  difference  being  half  an  inch  in  favor  of  the 
wife  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir,  as  near  as  could  be  ;  for  I  was  umpire  more 
than  once." 

"Did  Peter  Goodwin  and  his  wife  live  happily  to- 
gether ? " 

"Tolerable — much  as  other  married  folks  get  along." 

"  Explain  what  you  mean  by  that." 

"  Why,  there's  ups  and  downs,  I  suppose,  in  all  families. 
Dorothy  was  high-tempered,  and  Peter  was  sometimes 
cross-grained." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  they  quarrelled  ?  " 

"They  got  r'iled  with  each  other,  now  and  then." 

"  Was  Peter  Goodwin  a  sober  man  ?  " 

The  witness  now  appeared  to  be  bothered.  He  looked 
around  him,  and  meeting  everywhere  with  countenances 
which  evidently  reflected  "yes,"  he  had  not  the  moral 
courage  to  run  counter  to  public  opinion,  and  say  "no." 
It  is  amazing  what  a  tyrant  this  concentration  of  minds 
gets  to  be  over  those  who  are  not  very  clear-headed  them- 
selves, and  who  are  not  constituted,  morally,  to  resist  its 
influence.  It  almost  possesses  a  power  to  persuade  these 
persons  not  to  put  faith  in  their  own  senses,  and  disposes 
them  to  believe  what  they  hear,  rather  than  what  they  have 
seen.  Indeed,  one  effect  is  to  cause  them  to  see  with  the 
eyes  of  others.  As  the  "  neighbors,"  those  inquisitors  who 
know  so  much  of  persons  of  their  association  and  intimacy, 
and  so  little  of  all  others,  very  generally  fancied  Peter  a 
sober  man,  Burton  scarce  knew  what  to  answer.  Circum- 
stances had  made  him  acquainted  with  the  delinquency  of 
the  old  man,  but  his  allegations  would  riot  be  sustained 
were  he  to  speak  the  whole  truth,  since  Peter  had  sue- 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  323 

ceeded  in  keeping  his  infirmity  from  being  generally 
known.  To  a  man  like  the  witness,  it  was  easier  to  sacri- 
fice the  truth  than  to  face  a  neighborhood. 

"  I  suppose  he  was  much  as  others,"  answered  Burton, 
after  a  delay  that  caused  some  surprise.  "  He  was  human, 
and  had  a  human  natur'.  Independence  days,  and  other 
rejoicings,  I've  known  him  give  in  more  than  the  temper- 
ance people  think  is  quite  right ;  but  I  shouldn't  say  he 
was  downright  intemperate." 

"  He  drank  to  excess,  then,  on  occasions  ?  " 

"  Peter  had  a  very  weak  head,  which  was  his  greatest 
difficulty." 

"Did  you  ever  count  the  money  in  Mrs.  Goodwin's 
stocking  ? " 

"I  never  did.  There  was  gold  and  paper;  but  how 
much  I  do  not  know." 

"  Did  you  see  any  strangers  in  or  about  the  house  of 
the  Goodwins,  the  morning  of  the  fire  ?  " 

"Yes  ;  two  strange  men  were  there,  and  were  active  in 
helping  the  prisoner  out  of  the  window,  and  afterward  in 
getting  out  the  furniture.  They  were  very  particular  in 
saving  Mary  Monson's  property." 

"Were  those  strangers  near  the  bureau  ?" 

"  Not  that  I  know.  I  helped  carry  the  bureau  out  my- 
self ;  and  I  was  present  afterward  in  court  when  it  was 
examined  for  the  money.  We  found  none." 

"  What  became  of  those  strangers  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you.  They  were  lost  to  me  in  the  con- 
fusion." 

'  Had  you  ever  seen  them  before  ? " 

'Never." 

'  Nor  since  ?  " 

4  No,  sir." 

'  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  take  that  rod,  and  tell 
me  what  is  the  difference  in  length  between  the  two  skele- 
tons ?" 

."  I  trust,  your  honor,  that  this  is  testimony  which  will 
not  be  received,"  put  in  Williams.  "  The  fact  is  before  the 
jury,  and  they  can  take  cognizance  of  it  for  themselves." 

Dunscomb  smiled  as  he  answered — 

•"  The  zeal  of  the  learned  gentleman  runs  ahead  of  his 
knowledge  of  the  rules  of  evidence.  Does  he  expect  a 
jury  to  measure  the  remains  ;  or  are  we  to  show  the  fact 
by  means  of  witnesses  ?  " 

"  This  is  a  cross-examination  ;  and  the  question  is  one  in 


324  TJIK   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

chief.  The  witness  belongs  to  the  defence,  if  the  question 
is  to  be  put  at  all." 

"  I  think  not,  your  honor.  The  witness  has  testified,  in 
chief,  that  he  believes  these  remains  to  be  those  of  Peter 
and  Dorothy  Goodwin  ;  he  has  further  said,  on  his  cross- 
examination,  that  Dorothy  was  half  an  inch  taller  than 
Peter  ;  we  now  wish  to  put  to  the  test  the  accuracy  of  the 
first  opinion,  by  comparing  the  two  facts — his  knowledge 
of  the  difference  by  the  former  measurement  as  compared 
with  the  present.  It  has  been  said  that  these  two  skeletons 
are  very  nearly  of  a  length.  We  wish  the  truth  to  be  seen." 

"  The  witness  will  answer  the  question,"  said  the  judge. 

"  I  doubt  the  power  of  the  court  to  compel  a  witness  to 
obtain  facts  in  this  irregular  mode,"  observed  the  perti- 
nacious Williams. 

"  You  can  note  your  exceptions,  brother  Williams,"  re- 
turned the  judge,  smiling;  "although  it  is  not  easy  to  see 
with  what  useful  consequences.  If  the  prisoner  be  ac- 
quitted, you  can  hardly  expect  to  try  her  again  ;  and,  if 
convicted,  the  prosecution  will  scarcely  wish  to  press  any 
objection." 

Williams,  who  was  as  much  influenced  by  a  bull-dog 
tenacity  as  by  any  other  motive,  now  submitted  ;  and  Bur- 
ton took  the  rod  and  measured  the  skeletons,  an  office  he 
might  have  declined,  most  probably,  had  he  seen  fit.  The 
spectators  observed  surprise  in  his  countenance  ;  and  he 
was  seen  to  repeat  the  measurement,  seemingly  with  more 
care. 

"Well,  sir,  what  is  the  difference  in  the  length  of  those 
skeletons  ?  "  inquired  Dunscomb. 

"  I  make  it  about  an  inch  and  a  half,  if  these  marks  are 
to  be  relied  on,"  was  the  slow,  cautious,  well-considered 
reply. 

"  Do  you  now  say  that  you  believe  these  skeletons  to  be 
the  remains  of  Peter  and  Dorothy  Goodwin  ? " 

"  Whose  else  can  they  be  ?  They  were  found  on  the 
spot  where  the  old  couple  used  to  sleep." 

"  I  ask  you  to  answer  my  question  ;  I  am  not  here  to  an- 
swer yours.  Do  you  still  say  that  you  believe  these  to  be 
the  skeletons  of  Peter  and  Dorothy  Goodwin  ?" 

"I  am  a  good  deal  nonplussed  by  this  measurement— 
though  the  flesh,  and  skin,  and  muscles,  may  have  made  a 
considerable  difference  in  life." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Williams,  with  one  of  his  withering 
sneers — sneers  that  had  carried  many  a  cause  purely  by 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  325 

their  impudence  and  sarcasm — "  Every  one  knows  how 
much  more  muscle  a  man  has  than  a  woman.  It  causes 
the  great  difference  in  their  strength.  A  bunch  of  muscles, 
more  or  less,  in  the  heel,  would  explain  all  this,  and  a 
great  deal  more." 

"  How  many  persons  dwelt  in  the  house  of  Goodwin  at 
the  time  of  the  fire  ?"  demanded  Dunscomb. 

"  They  tell  me  Mary  Monson  was  there,  and  I  saw  her 
there  during  the  fire  ;  but  I  never  saw  her  there  before." 

"Do  you  know  of  any  other  inmate  besides  the  old 
couple  and  the  prisoner?" 

"  I  did  see  a  strange  woman  about  the  house  for  a  week 
or  two  before  the  fire,  but  I  never  spoke  to  her.  They  tell 
me  she  was  High  Dutch." 

"  Never  mind  what  they  fc//you,  Mr.  Burton  " — observed 
the  judge — ''testify  only  to  what  you  know" 

"  Did  you  see  this  strange  woman  at  the  fire,  or  after  the 
fire  ?  "  continued  Dunscomb. 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  did.  I  remember  to  have  looked 
round  for  her,  too  ;  but  I  did  not  find  her." 

"  Was  her  absence  spoken  of  in  the  crowd  at  the  time  ?" 

"  Something  was  said  about  it  ;  but  we  were  too  much 
taken  up  with  the  old  couple  to  think  a  great  deal  of  this 
stranger." 

This  is  an  outline  of  Burton's  testimony  ;  though  the 
cross-examination  was  continued  for  more  than  an  hour, 
and  Williams  had  him  again  examined  in  chief.  That  in- 
trepid practitioner  contended  that  the  defence  had  made 
Burton  its  own  witness  in  all  that  related  to  the  measure- 
ment of  the  skeletons  ;  and  that  he  had  a  right  to  a  cross- 
examination.  After  all  this  contest,  the  only  fact  of  any 
moment  elicited  from  the  witness  related  to  the  difference 
in  stature  between  Goodwin  and  his  wife,  as  has  been 
stated  already. 

In  the  meantime,  Timms  ascertained  that  the  last  report 
set  on  foot  by  his  own  agents,  at  the  suggestion  of  Mary 
Monson  herself,  was  circulating  freely  ;  and,  though  it 
was  directly  opposed  to  the  preceding  rumor,  which  had 
found  great  favor  with  the  gossips,  this  extravagant  tale 
was  most  greedily  swallowed.  We  conceive  that  those 
persons  who  are  so  constituted,  morally,  as  to  find  pleasure 
in  listening  to  the  idle  rumors  that  float  about  society,  are 
objects  of  pity;  their  morbid  desire  to  talk  of  the  affairs  of 
others  being  a  disease  that  presses  them  down  beneath  the 
level  they  might  otherwise  occupy.  With  such  persons, 


326  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

the  probabilities  go  for  nothing  ;  and  they  are  more  in- 
clined to  give  credit  to  a  report  that  excites  their  interest, 
by  running  counter  to  all  the  known  laws  of  human  ac- 
tions, than  to  give  faith  to  its  contradiction,  when  sus- 
tained  by  every  reason  that  experience  sustains.  Thus 
was  it  on  the  present  occasion.  There  was  something  so 
audacious  in  the  rumor  that  Mary  Monson  belonged  to  a 
gang  of  rogues  in  town,  and  had  been  sent  especially  to 
rob  the  Goodwins,  that  vulgar  curiosity  found  great  delight 
in  it ;  the  individual  who  heard  the  report  usually  sending 
it  on  with  additions  of  his  own,  that  had  their  authority 
purely  in  the  workings  of  a  dull  imagination.  It  is  in  that 
way  that  this  great  faculty  of  the  mind  is  made  to  perform 
a  double  duty ;  which  in  the  one  case  is  as  pure  and  en- 
nobling, as  in  the  other  it  is  debasing  and  ignoble.  The 
man  of  a  rich  imagination,  he  who  is  capable  of  throw- 
ing the  charms  of  poetical  feeling  around  the  world  in 
which  we  dwell,  is  commonly  a  man  of  truth.  The  high 
faculty  which  he  possesses  seems,  in  such  cases,  to  be  em- 
ployed in  ferreting  out  facts  which,  on  proper  occasions, 
he  produces  distinctly,  manfully,  and  logically.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  is  a  species  of  subordinate  imagination 
that  is  utterly  incapable  of  embellishing  life  with  charms 
of  any  sort,  and  which  delights  in  the  false.  This  last  is 
the  imagination  of  the  gossip.  It  obtains  some  modicum 
of  facts,  mixes  it  with  large  quantities  of  stupid  fiction, 
delights  in  the  idol  it  has  thus  fashioned  out  of  its  own 
head,  and  sends  it  abroad  to  find  worshippers  as  dull,  as 
vulgar-minded,  and  as  uncharitable,  as  itself. 

Timms  grew  frightened  at  the  success  of  his  client's 
scheme,  and  felt  the  necessity  of  commencing  the  reaction 
at  once,  if  the  last  were  to  have  time  in  which  to  produce 
its  effect.  He  had  been  warmly  opposed  to  the  project  in 
the  commencement,  and  had  strenuously  resisted  its  adop- 
tion ;  but  Mary  Monson  would  not  listen  to  his  objections. 
She  even  threatened  to  employ  another,  should  he  fail  her. 
The  conceit  seemed  to  have  taken  "a  strong  hold  on  her 
fancy,  and  all  the  wilfulness  of  her  character  had  come  in 
aid  of  this  strange  scheme.  The  thing  was  done  ;  and  it 
now  remained  to  prevent  its  effecting  the  mischief  it  was 
so  well  adapted  to  produce. 

All  this  time  the  fair  prisoner  sat  in  perfectly  composed 
silence,  listening  attentively  to  everything  that  was  said, 
and  occasionally  taking  a  note.  Timms  ventured  to  sug- 
gest that  it  might  be  better  were  she  to  abstain  from  doing 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  327 

the  last,  as  it  gave  her  the  air  of  knowing  too  much,  and 
helped  to  deprive  her  of  the  interesting  character  of  an  un- 
protected female  ;  but  she  turned  a  perfectly  deaf  ear  to 
his  admonitions,  hints,  and  counsel.  He  was  a  safe  adviser, 
nevertheless,  in  matters  of  this  sort ;  but  Mary  Monson 
was  not  accustomed  so  much  to  follow  the  leadings  of 
others  as  to  submit  to  her  own  impulses. 

The  sisters  of  Burton  were  next  examined.  They 
proved  all  the  admitted  facts  ;  testified  as  to  the  stocking 
and  its  contents,  and  two  of  them  recognized  the  piece  of 
gold  which  was  said  to  have  been  found  in  Mary  Monson's 
purse  as  that  which  had  once  been  the  property  of  Dorothy 
Goodwin.  On  this  head,  the  testimony  of  each  was  full, 
direct,  and  explicit.  Each  had  often  seen  the  piece  of 
gold,  and  they  had  noted. a  very  small  notch  or  scratch 
near  the  edge,  which  notch  or  scratch  was  visible  on  the 
piece  now1  presented  in  court.  The  cross-examination 
failed  to  shake  this  testimony,  and  well  it  might,  for  every 
word  these  young  women  stated  was  strictly  true.  The 
experiment  of  placing  the  piece  of  coin  among  other  simi- 
lar coin,  failed  with  them.  They  easily  recognized  the 
true  piece  by  the  notch.  Timms  was  confounded  ;  Duns- 
comb  looked  very  grave  ;  Williams  raised  his  nose  higher 
than  ever,  and  Mary  Monson  was  perfectly  surprised. 
When  the  notch  was  first  mentioned,  she  arose,  advanced 
far  enough  to  examine  the  coin,  and  laid  her  hand  on  her 
forehead,  as  if  she  pondered  painfully  on  the  circumstance. 
The  testimony  that  this  was  the  identical  piece  found  in 
her  purse  was  very  ample,  the  coin  having  been  sealed  up 
and  kept  by  the  coroner,  who  had  brought  it  into  court ; 
while  it  must  now  be  admitted  that  a  very  strong  case  was 
made  out  to  show  that  this  foreign  coin  had  once  been 
among  the  hoards  of  Dorothy  Goodwin.  A  very  deep  im- 
pression was  made  by  this  testimony  on  all  who  heard  it, 
including  the  court,  the  bar,  the  jury,  and  the  audience. 
Every  person  present,  but  those  who  were  in  the  immedi- 
ate confidence  of  the  accused,  was  firmly  convinced  of 
Mary  Monson's  guilt.  Perhaps  the  only  other  exceptions 
to  this  mode  of  thinking  were  a  few  experienced  prac- 
titioners, who,  from  long  habit,  knew  the  vast  importance 
of  hearing  both  sides  before  they  made  up  their  minds  in 
a  matter  of  so  much  moment. 

We  shall  not  follow  Dunscomb  through  his  long  and 
arduous  cross-examination  of  the  sisters  of  Burton,  but 
confine  ourselves  to  a  few  of  the  more  pertinent  of  the  in- 


328  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

terrogatories  that  he  put  to  the  eldest,  and  which  were  duly 
repeated  when  the  other  two  were  placed  on  the  stand. 

"Will  you  name  the  persons  dwelling  in  the  house  of  the 
Goodwins  at  the  time  of  the  fire  ?"  asked  Dunscomb. 

"  There  were  the  two  old  folks,  this  Mary  Monson,  and 
a  German  woman  named  Yetty  (Jette)  that  aunt  Dorothy 
took  in  to  wait  on  her  boarders." 

"  Was  Mrs.  Goodwin  your  aunt,  then  ?" 

"No  ;  we  wasn't  related  no  how  ;  but,  being  such  near 
neighbors,  and  she  so  old,  we  just  called  her  aunt  by  way 
of  a  compliment." 

"  I  understand  that,"  said  Dunscomb,  arching  his  brows 
—"I  am  called  uncle,  and  by  very  charming  young  per- 
sons, on  the  same  principle.  Did  you  know  much  of  this 
German?" 

"  I  saw  her  almost  every  day  for  the  time  she  was  there, 
and  talked  with  her  as  well  as  I  could  ;  but  she  spoke  very 
little  English.  Mary  Monson  was  the  only  person  who 
could  talk  with  her  freely  ;  she  spoke  her  language." 

"  Had  you  much  acquaintance  with  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar  ? " 

"  I  was  some  acquainted,  as  a  body  always  is  when  they 
live  such  near  neighbors." 

"Were  your  .conversations  with  the  prisoner  frequent, 
or  at  all  confidential  ?" 

"  To  own  the  truth,  I  never  spoke  to  her  in  my  life. 
Mary  Monson  was  much  too  grand  for  me." 

Dunscomb  smiled  ;  he  understood  how  common  it  wras 
for  persons  in  this  country  to  say  they  are  "well  acquaint- 
ed "  with  this  or  that  individual  when  their  whole  knowl- 
edge is  derived  from  the  common  tongue.  An  infinity  of 
mischief  is  done  by  this  practice  ;  but  the  ordinary  Ameri- 
can who  will  admit  that  he  lives  near  any  one  without  hav- 
ing an  acquaintance  with  him,  if  acquaintance  is  supposed 
to  confer  credit,  is  an  extraordinary  exception  to  a  very 
general  rule.  The  idea  of  being  "  too  grand  "  was  of  a 
nature  to  injure  the  prisoner  and  to  impair  her  rights,  and 
Dunscomb  deemed  it  best  to  push  the  witness  a  little 
on  this  point. 

"Why  did  you  think  Mary  Monson  was  '  too  grand  '  for 
you  ?"  he  demanded. 

"Because  she  looked so." 

"  How  did  she  look  ?  In  what  way  dees  or  did  her  looks 
indicate  that  she  was,  or  thought  herself  *  too  grand '  for 
your  association  ? " 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 


329 


"Is  this  necessary,  Mr.  Dunscomb?"  demanded  the 
judge. 

"I  beg  your  honor  will  suffer  the  gentleman  to  proceed," 
put  in  Williams,  cocking  his  nose  higher  than  ever,  and 
looking  round  the  court-room  with  an  air  of  intelligence 
that  the  great  York  counsellor  did  not  like.  "  It  is  an  in- 
teresting subject ;  and  we,  poor  ignorant  Dukes  County 
folks,  may  get  useful  ideas,  to  teach  us  how  to  look  *  too 
grand !'" 

Dunscomb  felt  that  he  had  made  a  false  step  ;  and  he 
had  the  self-command  to  stop. 

"  Had  you  any  conversation  with  the  German  woman  ?" 
he  continued,  bowing  slightly  to  the  judge  to  denote  sub- 
mission to  his  pleasure. 

"  She  couldn't  talk  English.  Mary  Monson  talked  with 
her,  I  didn't,  to  any  account." 

"  Were  you  at  the  fire  ? " 

"  I  was." 

"  Did  you  see  anything  of  this  German  during  the  fire, 
or  afterward  ? " 

"  I  didn't.     She  disappeared,  unaccountable  !  " 

"  Did  you  visit  the  Goodwins  as  often  after  Mary  Mon- 
son came  to  live  with  them,  as  you  had  done  previously  ? " 

"  I  didn't — grand  looks  and  grand  language  isn't  agree- 
able to  me." 

"  Did  Mary  Monson  ever  speak  to  you  ? " 

"  I  think,  your  honor,"  objected  Williams,  who  did  not 
like  the  question,  "that  this  is  travelling  out  of  the  rec- 
ord." 

"  Let  the  gentleman  proceed — time  is  precious,  and  a 
discussion  would  lose  us  more  of  it  than  to  let  him  pro- 
ceed— go  on,  Mr.  Dunscomb." 

"  Did  Mary  Monson  ever  speak  to  you  ?" 

"  She  never  did,  to  my  knowledge." 

"  What  then  do  you  mean  by  '  grand  language  ? ' ' 

"Why,  when  she  spoke  to  Aunt  Dorothy,  she  didn't 
speak  as  I  was  used  to  hear  folks  speak." 

"  In  what  respect  was  the  difference  ?  " 

"  She  was  grander  in  her  speech,  and  more  pretending 
like." 

"  Do  you  mean  louder  ? " 

"  No — perhaps  she  wasn't  as  loud  as  common — but  'twas 
more  like  a  book,  and  uncommon." 

Dunscomb  understood  all  this  perfectly,  as  well  as  the 
feeling  which  lay  at  its  bottom,  but  he  saw  that  the  jury 


33° 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 


did  not ;  and  he  was  forced  to  abandon  the  inquiry,  as  often 
happens  on  such  occasions,  on  account  of  the  ignorance 
of  those  to  whom  the  testimony  was  addressed.  He  soon 
after  abandoned  the  cross-examination  of  the  sister  of  Bur- 
ton ;  when  his  wife  was  brought  upon  the  stand  by  the 
prosecution. 

This  woman,  coming  from  a  different  stock,  had  none  of 
the  family  characteristics  of  the  sisters.  As  they  were 
garrulous,  forward,  and  willing  enough  to  testify,  she  was 
silent,  reserved  in  manner,  thoughtful,  and  seemingly  so 
diffident  that  she  trembled  all  over,  as  she  laid  her  hand 
on  the  sacred  volume.  Mrs.  Burton  passed  for  a  very  good 
woman  among  all  who  dwelt  in  or  near  Biberry  ;  and  there 
was  much  more  confidence  felt  in  her  revelations  than  in 
those  of  her  sisters-in-law.  Great  modesty,  not  to  say  tim- 
idity of  manner,  an  air  of  singular  candor,  a  low,  gentle 
voice,  and  an  anxious  expression  of  countenance,  as  if  she 
weighed  the  import  of  every  syllable  she  uttered,  soon 
won  for  this  witness  the  sympathy  of  all  present,  as  well 
as  perfect  credence.  Every  word  she  uttered  had  a  direct 
influence  on  the  case  ;  and  this  so  much  the  more  since 
she  testified  reluctantly,  and  would  gladly  have  been  per- 
mitted to  say  nothing. 

The  account  given  by  Mrs.  Burton,  in  her  examination 
in  chief,  did  not  materially  diifer  from  that  previously 
stated  by  her  sisters-in-law.  She  knew  more,  in  some  re- 
spects, than  those  who  had  preceded  her,  while,  in  others, 
she  knew  less.  She  had  been*  more  in  the  confidence  of 
Dorothy  Goodwin  than  any  other  member  of  her  family, 
had  seen  her  oftener,  and  knew  more  of  her  private  affairs. 
With  the  stocking  and  its  contents  she  admitted  that  she 
was  familiarly  acquainted.  The  gold  exceeded  twelve  hun- 
dred dollars  in  amount ;  she  had  counted  it,  in  her  own 
hands.  There  was  paper,  also,  but  she  did  not  know  how 
much,  exactly,  as  Dorothy  kept  that  very  much  to  herself. 
She  knew,  however,  that  her  neighbors  talked  of  purchas- 
ing a  farm,  the  price  of  which  was  quite  five  thousand  dol- 
lars, a  sum  that  Dorothy  often  talked  of  paying  down.  She 
thought  the  deceased  must  have  had  money  to  that  amount, 
in  some  form  or  other. 

On  the  Subject  of  the  piece  of  gold  found  in  Mary  Mon- 
son's  purse,  Mrs.  Burton  gave  her  testimony  with  the  most 
amiable  discretion.  Every  one  compared  the  reserve  and 
reluctance  of  her  manner  most  favorably  with  the  pert 
readiness  of  Mrs.  Pope  and  the  sisters.  This  witness  ap- 


THE  WAYS   OF  TUE  JIOUX.  33! 

peared  to  appreciate  the  effect  of  all  she  said,  arid  uttered 
the  facts  she  knew  with  a  gentleness  of  manner  that  gave 
great  weight  to  her  testimony.  Dunscomb  soon  saw  that 
this  was  the  witness  the  defence  had  most  reason  to  dread, 
and  he  used  the  greatest  care  in  having  every  word  she 
said  written  out  with  precision. 

Mrs.  Burton  swore  point  blank  to  the  piece  of  notched 
gold,  although  she  fairly  trembled  as  she  gave  her  testi- 
mony. She  knew  it  was  the  very  piece  that  she  had  often 
seen  in  Dorothy  Goodwin's  possession ;  she  had  examined  it, 
at  least  a  dozen  times,  and  could  have  selected  it  among  a 
thousand  similar  coins,  by  means  of  its  private  marks. 
Besides  the  notch,  there  was  a  slight  defect  in  the  impres- 
sion of  the  date.  This  had  been  pointed  out  to  her  by 
Dorothy  Goodwin  herself,  who  had  said  it  was  a  good 
mark  by  which  to  know  the  piece,  should  it  be  stolen.  On 
this  head,  the  witness's  testimony  was  firm,  clear,  and  full. 
As  it  was  corroborated  by  so  much  other  evidence,  the 
result  was  a  deep  and  very  general  impression  of  the  pris- 
oner's guilt. 

It  was  late  when  the  examination  in  chief  of  Mrs.  Bur- 
ton terminated.  She  stated  that  she  was  much  fatigued, 
and  was  suffering  under  a  severe  headache  ;  and  Williams 
asked,  in  her  behalf,  that  the  court  would  adjourn  over, 
until  next  day,  ere  the  cross-examination  was  gone  into. 
This  suited  Dunscomb's  views  altogether,  for  he  knew 
he  might  lose  an  essential  advantage  by  allowing1  the  wit- 
ness a  night  to  arrange  her  thoughts,  pending  so  search- 
ing a  process.  There  being  no  resistance  on  the  part  of 
the  prisoner  to  the  request  of  the  prosecution,  the  judge 
so  far  waived  his  regard  for  the  precious  time  of  the  court, 
as  to  consent  to  adjourn  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
instead  of  pushing  the  case  to  ten  or  eleven.  As  a  conse- 
quence the  jurors  took  their  rest  in  bed,  instead  of  sleep- 
ing in  the  jury-box. 

Dunscomb  left  the  court-house,  that  night,  dejected,  and 
with  no  great  expectation  of  the  acquittal  of  his  client. 
Timms  had  a  better  feeling,  and  thought  nothing  had  yet 
appeared  that  might  not  be  successfully  resisted. 


THE  WA  YS   OF   7'IfE  HOUR. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"  I've  not  wronged  her." 

"  Far  be  it  from  my  fears." 

"  Then  why  this  argument  ?  " 

"  My  lord,  my  nature's  jealous,  and  you'll  bear  it." 

— OTWAY. 

So  great  was  the  confidence  of  Sarah  Wilmeter  and 
Anna  Updyke  in  the  innocence  of  their  friend,  that  almost 
every  step  that  the  trial  advanced,  appeared  to  them  as  so 
much  progress  toward  an  eventual  acquittal.  It  was  per- 
haps a  little  singular  that  the  party  most  interested,  she 
who  knew  her  own  guilt  or  innocence,  became  dejected, 
and  for  the  first  half  hour  after  they  had  left  the  court- 
room she  was  silent  and  thoughtful.  Good  Mrs.  Gott  was 
quite  in  despair,  and  detained  Anna  Updyke,  with  whom 
she  had  established  a  sort  of  intimacy,  as  she  opened  the 
door  of  the  gallery  for  the  admission  of  the  party,  in  order 
to  say  a  word  on  the  subject  that  lay  nearest  to  her  heart. 

"Oh!  Miss  Anna,"  said  the  sheriff 's  wife,  "it  goes  from 
bad  to  worse  !  It  was  bad  enough  last  evening,  and  it  is 
worse  to-night." 

"Who  tells  you  this,  Mrs.  Gott  ?  So  far  from  thinking 
as  you  do,  I  regard  it  as  appearing  particularly  favorable." 

"You  must  have  heard  what  Burton  said,  and  what  his 
wife  said,  too.  They  are  the  witnesses  I  dread." 

"  Yes,  but  who  will  mind  what  such  persons  say  !  I  am 
sure  if  fifty  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Burtons  were  to  testify  that 
Mary  Monson  had  taken  money  that  did  not  belong  to  her, 
I  should  not  believe  them." 

"  You  are  not  a  Dukes  County  jury  !  Why,  Miss  Anna, 
these  men  will  believe  almost  anything  you  tell  them. 
Only  swear  to  it,  and  there's  no  accounting  for  their  cre- 
dulity. No  ;  I  no  more  believe  in  Mary  Monson's  guilt 
than  I  do  in  my  own,  but  law  is  law,  they  say,  and  rich  and 
poor  must  abide  by  it." 

"You  view  the  matter  under  a  false  light,  my  kind- 
hearted  Mrs.  Gott,  and  after  a  night's  rest  will  see  the  case 
differently.  Sarah  and  I  have  been  delighted  with  the 
course  of  things.  You  must  have  remarked  no  one  said 
that  Mary  Monson  had  been  seen  to  set  fire  to  the 
house,  or  to  harm  the  Goodwins,  or  to  touch  their  prop- 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  333 

erty,  or  to  do  anything  that  was  wrong  ;  and  of  course  she 
must  be  acquitted." 

"  I  wish  that  piece  of  gold  had  not  been  found  in  her 
pocket!  It's  that  which  makes  all  the  trouble." 

"  I  think  nothing  of  that,  my  good  friend.  There  is 
nothing  remarkable  in  two  pieces  of  money  having  the 
same  marks  on  them  ;  I  have  seen  that  often,  myself. 
Besides  Mary  Monson  explains  all  that,  and  her  declara- 
tion is  as  good  as  that  of  this  Mrs.  Burton's,  any  day." 

"Not  in  law,  Miss  Anna  ;  no,  not  in  law.  Out  of  doors 
it  might  be  much  better,  and  probably  is  ;  but  not  in  court, 
by  what  they  tell  me.  Gott  says  it  is  beginning  to  look 
very  dark,  and  that  we,  in  the  jail,  here,  must  prepare  for 
the  very  worst.  I  tell  him,  if  I  was  he,  I'd  resign  before 
I'd  execute  such  a  beautiful  creature  ! " 

"You  make  me  shudder  with  such  horrid  thoughts,  Mrs. 
Gott,  and  I  will  thank  you  to  open  the  door.  Take  cour- 
age ;  we  shall  never  have  to  lament  such  a  catastrophe,  or 
your  husband  to  perform  so  revolting  a  duty." 

"  I  hope  not — I'm  sure  I  hope  not,  with  all  my  heart.  I 
would  prefer  that  Gott  should  give  up  all  hopes  of  ever 
rising  any  higher,  than  have  him  do  this  office.  One 
never  knows,  Miss  Anna,  what  is  to  happen  in  life,  though 
I  was  as  happy  as  a  child  when  he  was  made  sheriff.  If 
my  words  have  any  weight  with  him,  and  he  often  says 
they  have,  I  shall  never  let  him  execute  Mary  Monson. 
You  are  young,  Miss  Anna  ;  but  you've  heard  the  tongue 
of  flattery,  I  make  no  doubt,  and  know  how  sweet  it  is 
to  woman's  ear." 

Mrs.  Gott  had  been  wiping  her  eyes  with  one  hand,  and 
putting  the  key  into  the  lock  with  the  other,  while  talk- 
ing, and  she  now  stood  regarding  her  young  companion 
with  a  sort  of  motherly  interest,  as  she  made  this  appeal 
to  her  experience.  Anna  blushed  "rosy  red,"  and  raised 
her  gloved  hand  to  turn  the  key,  as  if  desirous  of  getting 
away  from  the  earnest  look  of  the  matron. 

"  That's  just  the  way  with  all  of  us,  Miss  Anna  !"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Gott.  "  We  listen,  and  listen,  and  listen  ;  and 
believe,  and  believe,  and  believe,  until  we  are  no  longer 
the  gay,  light-hearted  creatures  that  we  were,  but  become 
mopy,  and  sightful,  and  anxious,  to  a  degree  that  makes 
us  forget  father  and  mother,  and  fly  from  the  paternal 
roof." 

"  Will  you  have  the  kindness,  now,  to  let  me  into  the 
jail  ?  "  said  Anna,  in  the  gentlest  voice  imaginable. 


334  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

"In  a  minute,  my  dear — I  call  you  my  dear,  because  I 
like  you  ;  for  I  never  use  what  Gott  calls  '  high-flown.' 
There  is  Mr.  John  Wilmeter,  now,  as  handsome  and  agree- 
able a  youth  as  ever  came  to  Biberry.  He  comes  here 
two  or  three  times  a  day,  and  sits  and  talks  with  me  in  the 
most  agreeable  way,  until  I've  got  to  like  him  better  than 
any  young  man  of  my  acquaintance.  He  talks  of  you, 
quite  half  the  time  ;  and  when  he  is  not  talking  of  you,  he 
is  thinking  of  you,  as  I  know  by  the  way  he  gazes  at  this 
very  door." 

"Perhaps  his  thoughts  are  on  Mary  Monson,"  answered 
Anna,  blushing  scarlet.  "  You  know  she  is  a  sort  of  client 
of  his,  and  he  has  been  here  in  her  service  for  a  good 
while." 

"  She  hardly  ever  saw  him  ;  scarcely  ever,  except  at  this 
grate.  His  foot  never  crossed  this  threshold,  until  his 
uncle  came  ;  and  since,  I  believe,  he  has  gone  in  but  once. 
Mary  Monson  is  not  the  being  he  worships." 

"  I  trust  he  worships  the  Being  we  all  worship,  Mrs. 
Gott,"  struggling  gently  to  turn  the  key  and  succeeding. 
"  It  is  not  for  us  poor  frail  beings  to  talk  of  being  wor- 
shipped." 

"  Or  of  worshipping,  as  I  tell  Gott,"  said  the  sheriff's 
wife,  permitting  her  companion  to  depart. 

Anna  found  Mary  Monson  and  Sarah  walking  together 
in  the  gallery,  conversing  earnestly. 

"It  is  singular  that  nothing  reaches  us  from  Michael 
Millington  ! "  exclaimed  the  last,  as  Anna  interlocked 
arms  with  her,  and  joined  the  party.  "  It  is  now  near 
eight-and-forty  hours  since  my  uncle  sent  him  to  town." 

"  On  my  business  ?  "  demanded  Mary  Monson,  quickly. 

"  Certainly  ;  on  no  other — though  what  it  was  that  took 
him  away  so  suddenly,  I  have  not  been  told.  I  trust  you 
will  be  able  to  overturn  all  that  these  Burtons  have  said, 
and  to  repair  the  mischief  they  have  done  ? " 

u  Fear  nothing  for  me,  Miss  Wilmeter,"  answered  the 
prisoner,  with  singular  steadiness  of  manner — "  I  tell  you, 
as  I  have  often  told  your  friend,  I  must  be  acquitted.  Let 
justice  take  its  course,  say  I,  and  the  guilty  be  punished. 
I  have  a  clew  to  the  whole  story,  as  I  believe,  and  must 
make  provision  for  to-morrow.  Do  you  two,  dear  warm- 
hearted friends  as  you  are,  now  leave  me  ;  and  when  you 
reach  the  inn,  send  Mr.  Dunscomb  hither,  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble. Not  that  Timms  ;  but  noble,  honest,  and  upright- 
Mr.  Dunscomb.  Kiss  me,  each  of  you,  and  so  good  night. 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  335 

Think  of  me  in  your  prayers.  I  am  a  great  sinner,  and 
have  need  of  your  prayers." 

The  wishes  of  Mary  Monson  were  obeyed,  and  the  young 
ladies  left  the  jail  for  the  night.  Ten  minutes  later  Duns- 
comb  reached  the  place,  and  was  admitted.  His  conference 
with  his  client  was  long,  intensely  interesting,  and  it  quite 
unsettled  the  notions  he  had  now,  for  some  time,  enter- 
tained of  her  guilt.  She  did  not  communicate  anything 
concerning  her  past  life,  nor  did  she  make  any  promises 
on  that  subject ;  but  she  did  communicate  facts  of  great 
importance,  as  connected  with  the  result  of  her  trial. 
Dunscomb  left  her,  at  a  late  hour,  with  views  entirely 
changed,  hopes  revived,  and  his  resolution  stimulated. 
He  made  ample  entries  in  his  brief  ;  nor  did  he  lay  his 
head  on  his  pillow  until  it  was  very  late. 

The  little  court-house  bell  rang  as  usual,  next  morning, 
and  judge,  jurors,  witnesses,  lawyers,  and  the  curious  in 
general,  collected  as  before,  without  any  ceremony,  though 
in  decent  quiet.  The  case  was  now  getting  to  be  so 
serious,  that  all  approached  it  as  truly  a  matter  of  life  and 
death  ;  even  the  reporters  submitting  to  an  impulse  of 
humanity,  and  viewing  the  whole  affair  less  in  a  business 
point  of  view,  than  as  one  which  might  carry  a  singularly 
gifted  woman  into  the  other  world.  The  first  act  of  the 
day  opened  by  putting  Mrs.  Burton  on  the  stand,  for  her 
cross-examination.  As  every  intelligent  person  present 
understood  that  on  her  testimony  depended  the  main  re- 
sult, the  fall  of  a  pin  might  almost  have  been  heard,  so 
profound  was  the  general  wish  to  catch  what  was  going 
on.  The  witness,  however,  appeared  to  be  calm,  while  the 
advocate  was  pale  and  anxious.  He  had  the  air  of  one 
who  had  slept  little  the  past  night.  He  arranged  his 
papers  with  studied  care,  made  each  movement  deliber- 
ately, compressed  his  lips,  and  seemed  to  be  bringing  his 
thoughts  into  such  a  state  of  order  and  distinctness  that 
each  might  be  resorted  to  as  it  was  needful.  In  point  of 
fact,  Dunscomb  foresaw  that  a  human  life  depended  very 
much  on  the  result  of  this  cross-examination,  and,  like  a 
conscientious  man,  he  was  disposed  to  do  his  whole  duty. 
No  wonder,  then,  that  he  paused  to  reflect,  was  deliberate 
in  his  acts,  and  concentrated  in  feeling. 

"  We  will  first  give  our  attention  to  this  piece  of  gold, 
Mrs.  Burton,"  the  counsel  for  the  prisoner  mildly  com- 
menced, motioning  to  the  coroner,  who  was  in  court  to 
show  the  witness  the  piece  of  money  so  often  examined 


336  THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

"  Are  you  quite  certain  that  it  is  the  very  coin  that  yov 
saw  in  the  possession  of  Mrs.  Goodwin  ?" 

"  Absolutely  certain,  sir.  As  certain  as  I  am  of  any- 
thing in  the  world." 

"  Mrs.  Burton,  I  wish  you  to  remember  that  the  life  of 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar  will,  most  probably,  be  affected  by 
your  testimony.  Be  kind  enough,  then,  to  be  very  guarded 
and  close  in  your  answers.  Do  you  still  say  that  this  is 
the  precise  coin  that  you  once  saw  in  Mrs.  Goodwin's 
stocking  ? " 

The  witness  seemed  suddenly  struck  with  the  manner  of 
the  advocate.  She  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  Still, 
Dunscomb  spoke  mildly,  kindly  even  ;  and  the  idea  con- 
veyed in  the  present,  was  but  a  repetition  of  that  conveyed 
in  the  former  question.  Nevertheless  those  secret  agen- 
cies, by  means  of  which  thought  meets  thought,  unknown 
to  all  but  their  possessors  ;  that  set  in  motion,  as  it  might 
be,  all  the  covert  currents  of  the  mind,  causing  them  to 
flow  toward  similar  streams  in  the  mind  of  another,  were 
now  at  work,  and  Dunscomb  and  the  witness  had  a  clew  to 
each  other's  meaning  that  entirely  escaped  the  observation 
of  all  around  them.  There  is  nothing  novel  in  this  state 
of  secret  intelligence.  It  doubtless  depends  on  a  mutual 
consciousness,  and  a  common  knowledge  of  certain  mate- 
rial facts,  the  latter  being  applied  by  the  former,  with 
promptitude  and  tact.  Notwithstanding  her  sudden  alarm, 
and  the  change  it  brought  over  her  entire  manner,  .Mrs. 
Burton  answered  the  question  as  before ;  what  was  more, 
she  answered  it  truly.  The  piece  of  gold  found  in  Mary 
Monson's  purse,  and  now  in  possession  of  the  coroner, 
who  had  kept  it  carefully,  in  order  to  identify  it,  had  been 
in  Dorothy  Goodwin's  stocking. 

"  Quite  certain,  sir.  I  know  that  to  be  the  same  piece 
of  money  that  I  saw  at  different  times,  in  Mrs.  Goodwin's 
stocking." 

"Did  you  ever  have  that  gold  coin  in  your  own  hand, 
Mrs.  Burton,  previously  to  this  trial  ? " 

This  was  a  very  natural  and  simple  interrogatory  ;  one 
that  might  be,  and  probably  was,  anticipated  ;  yet  it  gave 
the  witness  uneasiness,  more  from  the  manner  of  Duns- 
comb,  perhaps,  than  from  anything  in  the  nature  of  the 
inquiry  itself.  The  answer,  however,  was  given  promptly, 
and,  as  before,  with  perfect  truth. 

"  On  several  occasions,  sir.  I  saw  that  notch,  and  talked 
with  MrSr  Goodwin  about  it,  more  than  once." 


THE   IV AYS    OF   THE    HOUR.  337 

"  What  was  the  substance  of  Mrs.  Goodwin's  remarks, 
in  relation  to  that  notch  ?  " 

"  She  asked  me,  one  time,  if  I  thought  it  lessened  the 
weight  of  the  coin  ;  and  if  so,  how  much  I  thought  it  might 
take  away  from  its  value  ?  " 

"  What  was  your  answer  ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  said  I  did  not  think  it  could  make  any  great 
difference." 

u  Did  Mrs.  Goodwin  ever  tell  you  how,  or  where,  she 
got  that  piece  of  money?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  she  did.  She  told  me  it  came  from  Mary 
Monson." 

"  In  pay  for  board  ;  or,  for  what  purpose  did  it  pass  from 
one  to  the  other  ?"' 

This,  too,  was  a  very  simple  question,  but  the  witness 
no  longer  answered  promptly.  The  reader  will  remem- 
ber that  Mary  Monson  had  said  before  the  coroner,  that 
she  had  two  of  these  coins,  and  that  she  had  given  one  of 
them  to  the  poor  unfortunate  deceased,  and  had  left  the 
other  in  her  own  purse.  This  answer  had  injured  the 
cause  of  the  accused,  inasmuch  as  it  was  very  easy  to  tell 
such  a  tale,  while  few  in  Biberry  were  disposed  to  believe 
that  gold  passed  thus  freely,  and  without  any  considera- 
tion, from  hand  to  hand.  Mrs.  Burton  remembered  all  this, 
and,  for  a  reason  best  known  to  herself,  she  shrank  a  little 
from  making  the  required  reply.  Still  she  did  answer  this 
question  also,  and  answered  it  truly. 

"  I  understood  Aunt  Dolly  to  say  that  Mary  Monson 
made  her  a  present  of  that  piece  of  money." 

Here  Timms  elevated  his  nose,  and  looked  around  him 
in  a  meaning  manner,  that  appealed  to  the  audience  to 
know  if  his  client  was  not  a  person  of  veracity.  Sooth  to 
say,  this  answer  made  a  strong  impression  in  favor  of  the 
accused,  and  Dunscomb  saw  with  satisfaction  that,  in  so 
much,  he  had  materially  gained  ground.  He  was  not  a 
man  to  gain  it,  however,  by  dramatic  airs  ;  he  merely 
paused  for  a  few  moments,  in  order  to  give  full  effect  to 
this  advantage. 

"Mrs.  Goodwin,  then,  owned  to  you  that  she  had  the 
coin  from  Mary  Monson,  and  that  it  was  a  present  ? "  was 
the  next  question. 

"She  did,  sir." 

"  Did  she  say   anything  about  Mary   Monson's  having 
another  piece   of  money,   like  the    one    before    you,   and 
which  was  given  by  her  to  Dorothy  Goodwin  ?  " 
22 


338  THE  WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

A  long  pause  succeeded.  The  witness  raised  a  hand  to 
her  brow,  and  appeared  to  meditate.  Her  reputation  for 
taciturnity  and  gravity  of  deportment  was  such,  that  most 
of  those  in  court  believed  she  was  endeavoring  to  recollect 
the  past,  in  order  to  say  neither  more  nor  less  than  the 
truth.  In  point  of  fact,  she  was  weighing  well  the  effect 
of  her  words,  for  she  was  a  person  of  extreme  caution,  and 
of  great  reputed  probity  of  character.  The  reply  came  at 
length — 

"She  did  speak  on  the  subject,"  she  said,  "and  did  state 
something  of  the  kind." 

"  Can  you  recollect  her  words — if  so,  give  them  to  the 
jury — if  not  her  very  words,  their  substance." 

"  Aunt  Dolly  had  a  way  of  her  own  in  talking,  which 
makes  it  very  difficult  to  repeat  her  precise  words ; 
but  she  said,  in  substance,  that  Mary  Monson,  had  two 
of  these  pieces  of  money,  one  of  which  was  given  to 
her" 

11  Mary  Monson,  then,  kept  the  other?" 

"  So  I  understood  it,  sir." 

"  Have  you  any  knowledge  yourself,  on  this  subject  ?  If 
so,  state  it  to  the  jury." 

Another  pause,  one  even  longer  than  before,  and  again 
the  hand  was  raised  to  the  brow.  The  witness  now  spoke 
with  extreme  caution,  seeming  to  feel  her  way  among  the 
facts,  as  a  cat  steals  on  its  prey. 

."  I  believe  I  have — a  little — some — I  have  seen  Mary 
Monson's  purse,  and  I  believe  I  saw  a  piece  of  money  in  it 
which  resembled  this." 

"  Are  you  not  certain  of  the  fact  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  am."  , 

Here  Dunscomb's  face  was  lighted  with  a  smile  ;  he  evi- 
dently was  encouraged. 

"  Were  you  present,  Mrs.  Burton,  when  Mary  Monson's 
purse  was  examined,  in  presence  of  the  inquest  ?" 

"  I  was." 

"  Did  you  then  see  its  contents  ?  " 

"  I  did  " — after  the  longest  pause  of  all. 

"  Had  you  that  purse  in  your  hand,  ma'am  ?" 

The  brow  was  once  more  shaded,  and  the  recollectioc 
seemingly  taxed. 

"  I  think  I  had.  It  was  passed  round  among  us,  and  I 
believe  that  I  touched  it,  as  well  as  others." 

"Are  you  not  certain  that  you  did  so  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.     Now,  I  reflect,    I    know   that    I   did.     The 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  339 

piece  of  money  found  in  Mary  Monson's  purse,  was  passed 
from  one  to  another,  and  to  me,  among  the  rest." 

"This  was  very  wrong,"  observed  his  honor. 

"  It  was  wrong,  sir  ;  but  not  half  as  wrong  as  the  mur- 
ders and  arson,"  coolly  remarked  Williams. 

"Go  on,  gentlemen — time  is  precious." 

"Now,  Mrs.  Burton,  I  wish  to  ask  you  a  very  particular 
question,  and  I  beg  that  your  answer  may  be  distinct  and 
guarded — did  you  ever  have  access  to  the  piece  of  gold 
found,  or  said  to  be  found,  in  Mary  Monson's  purse,  ex- 
cept on  the  occasion  of  the  inquest  ?" 

The  longest  pause  of  all,  and  the  deepest  shading  of  the 
brow.  So  long  was  the  self-deliberation  this  time,  as  to 
excite  a  little  remark  among  the  spectators.  Still,  it  was 
no  more  than  prudent,  to  be  cautious,  in  a  cause  of  so 
much  importance. 

"  I  certainly  have,  sir,"  was  the  reply  that  came  at  last 
"  I  saw  it  in  Dorothy  Goodwin's  stocking,  several  times  ; 
had  it  in  my  hand,  and  examined  it.  This  is  the  way  I 
came  to  discover  the  notch.  Aunt  Dolly  and  I  talked 
about  that  notch,  as  I  have  already  told  the  court." 

"  Quite  true,  ma'am,  we  remember  that ,  all  your  an- 
swers are  carefully  written  out " 

"  I'm  sure,  nothing  that  I  have  said  can  be  written  out, 
which  is  not  true,  sir." 

"  We  are  to  suppose  that.  And  now,  ma'am,  permit  me 
to  ask  if  you  ever  saw  that  piece  of  money  at  any  other 
time  than  at  those  you  have  mentioned.  Be  particular  in 
the  answer." 

"  I  may,"  after  a  long  pause. 

"  Do  you  not  know  ?  " 

"  I  do  not,  sir." 

"  Will  you  say,  on  your  oath,  that  you  cannot  recollect 
any  one  occasion,  other  than  those  you  have  mentioned,  on 
which  you  have  seen  and  handled  that  piece  of  money  ? " 

"  When  Aunt  Dolly  showed  it  to  me,  before  the  coroner, 
and  here  in  court.  I  recollect  no  other  time." 

''Let  me  put  this  question  to  you  again,  Mrs.  Burton — 
recalling  the  solemnity  of  the  oath  you  have  taken — have 
you,  or  have  you  not,  seen  that  piece  of  money  on  any 
other  occasion  than  those  you  have  just  mentioned  ? " 

"  I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  seen  it  at  any  other 
time,"  answered  the  woman,  firmly. 

Mary  Monson  gave  a  little  start,  and  Dunscomb  ap- 
peared disappointed.  Timms  bit  his  lip,  and  looked  anx- 


340  THE  W 'AYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

iously  at  the  jury,  while  Williams  once  more  cocked  hh 
nose,  and  looked  around  him  in  triumph.  If  the  witness 
spoke  the  truth,  she  was  now  likely  to  adhere  to  it ;  if,  on 
the  other  hand,  there  were  really  any  ground  for  Duns- 
comb's  question,  the  witness  had  passed  the  Rubicon,  and 
would  adhere  to  her  falsehood  even  more  tenaciously 
than  she  would  adhere  to  the  truth.  The  remainder  of 
this  cross-examination  was  of  very  little  importance.  Noth- 
ing further  was  obtained  from  the  witness  that  went  to 
shake  her  testimony. 

Our  limits  will  not  permit  a  detailed  account  of  all  the 
evidence  that  was  given  in  behalf  of  the  prosecution.  All 
that  appeared  before  the  inquest  was  now  introduced, 
methodized  and  arranged  by  Williams  ;  processes  that 
rendered  it  much  more  respectable  than  it  had  originally 
appeared  to  be.  At  length  it  came  to  the  turn  of  the  de- 
fence to  open.  This  was  a  task  that  Dunscomb  took  on 
himself,  Timms,  in  his  judgment,  being  unequal  to  it.  His 
opening  was  very  effective,  in  the  way  of  argument,  though 
necessarily  not  conclusive,  the  case  not  making  in  favor  of 
his  client. 

The  public  expected  important  revelations  as  to  the  past 
history  of  the  prisoner,  and  of  this  Timms  had  apprised 
Dunscomb.  The  latter,  however,  was  not  prepared  to 
make  them.  Mary  Monson  maintained  all  her  reserve,  and 
Millington  did  not  return.  The  cause  was  now  so  far  ad- 
vanced as  to  render  it  improbable  that  any  facts,  of  this 
nature,  could  be  obtained  in  sufficient  season  to  be  used, 
and  the  counsel  saw  the  necessity  of  giving  a  new  turn  to 
this  particular  point  in  the  case.  He  consequently  com- 
plained that  the  prosecution  had  neglected  to  show  any- 
thing in  the  past  life  of  the  accused  to  render  it  probable 
she  had  been  guilty  of  the  offences  with  which  she  was 
charged.  "  Mary  Monson  appears  here,"  he  went  on  to 
say,  **  with  a  character  as  fair  as  that  of  any  other  female 
in  the  community.  This  is  the  presumption  of  law,  and 
you  will  truly  regard  her,  gentlemen,  as  one  that  is  inno- 
cent until  she  is  proved  to  be  guilty."  The  inference  drawn 
from  the  silence  of  the  prosecution  was  not  strictly  logical, 
perhaps  ;  but  Dunscomb  managed  at  least  to  mystify  the 
matter  in  such  a  way  as  to  prepare  the  jury  to  hear  a  de- 
fence that  would  be  silent  on  this  head,  and  to  leave  a 
doubt  whether  this  silence  were  not  solely  the  fault  of  the 
counsel  for  the  prosecution.  While  he  was  commenting 
on  this  branch  of  the  subject,  Williams  took  notes  furious- 


THR   WAYS   OF  THR  HOUR.  341 

ly,  and  Timms  foresaw  that  he  meant  to  turn  the  tables  on 
them,  at  the  proper  moment. 

Pretty  much  as  a  matter  of  course,  Dunscomb  was  com- 
pelled to  tell  the  court  and  jury  that  the  defence  relied 
principally  on  the  insufficiency  of  the  evidence  of  the  other 
side.  This  was  altogether  circumstantial  ;  and  the  circum- 
stances, as  he  hoped  to  be  able  to  convince  the  jury,  were 
of  a  nature  that  admitted  of  more  than  one  construction. 
Whenever  this  was  the  case,  it  was  the  duty  of  the  jury  to 
give  the  accused  the  full  benefit  of  these  doubts.  The 
rest  of  the  opening  had  the  usual  character  of  appeals  to 
the  sympathy  and  justice  of  the  jury,  very  prudently  and 
properly  put. 

Dr.  McBrain  was  now  placed  upon  the  stand,  when  the 
customary  questions  were  asked,  to  show  that  he  was  a 
witness  entitled  to  the  respect  of  the  court.  He  was  then 
further  interrogated,  as  follows  : 

"  Have  you  seen  the  two  skeletons  that  are  now  in  court, 
and  which  are  said  to  have  been  taken  from  the  ruins  of 
the  house  of  the  Goodwins  ? " 

"  I  have.  I  saw  them  before  the  inquest ;  and  I  have 
again  examined  them  here,  in  court." 

"  What  do  you  say,  as  to  their  sex  ?  " 

"  I  believe  them  both  to  be  the  skeletons  of  females." 

"  Do  you  feel  certain  of  this  fact  ?  " 

"  Reasonably  so,  but  not  absolutely.  No  one  can  pro- 
nounce with  perfect  certainty  in  such  a  case  ;  more  espe- 
cially when  the  remains  are  in  the  state  in  which  these 
have  been  found.  We  are  guided  principally  by  the  com- 
parative size  of  the  bones  ;  and,  as  these  are  affected  by 
the  age  of  the  subject,  it  is  hazardous  to  be  positive.  I 
can  only  say  that  I  think  both  of  these  skeletons  belonged 
to  female  subjects  ;  particularly  the  shortest." 

"  Have  you  measured  the  skeletons  ?  " 

"  I  have,  and  find  one  rather  more  than  an  inch  and  a 
half  shorter  than  the  other.  The  longest  measures  quite 
five  feet  seven  and  a  half,  in  the  the  state  in  which  it  is  ; 
while  the  shortest  measures  a  trifle  less  than  five  feet  six. 
If  women,  both  were  of  unusual  stature  ;  particularly  the 
first.  I  think  that  the  bones  of  both  indicate  that  they  be- 
longed to  females  ;  and  I  should  have  thought  the  same 
had  I  known  nothing  of  the  reports  which  have  reached 
my  ears  touching  the  persons  whose  remains  these  are 
said  to  be." 

"When  you  first  formed  your  opinion  of  the  sex  of  those 


342  THE  WAYS  or  THE  if  OCR. 

to  whom  these  remains  belonged,  had  you  heard  that  there 
was  a  German  woman  staying  in  the  house  of  the  Good- 
wins at  the  time  of  the  fire  ?" 

"  I  think  not ;  though  I  have  taken  so  little  heed  of  these 
rumors  as  to  be  uncertain  when  I  first  heard  this  circum- 
stance. I  do  remember,  however,  that  I  was  under  the 
impression  the  remains  were,  beyond  a  doubt,  those  of 
Peter  Goodwin  ancl  his  wife,  when  I  commenced  the  exami- 
nation of  them  ;  and  I  very  distinctly  recollect  the  surprise 
I  felt  when  the  conviction  crossed  my  mind  that  both  were 
the  skeletons  of  women.  From  the  nature  of  this  feeling, 
I  rather  think  I  could  not  have  heard  anything  of  the 
German  female  at  that  time." 

The  cross-examination  of  Dr.  McBrain  was  very  long 
and  searching,  but  it  did  not  materially  affect  the  substance 
of  his  testimony.  On  the  contrary,  it  rather  strengthened 
it  ;  since  he  had  it  in  his  power  to  explain  himself  more 
fully  under  the  interrogatories  of  Williams,  than  he  could 
do  in  an  examination  in  chief.  Still,  he  could  go  no 
further  than  give  his  strong  belief  ;  declining  to  pronounce 
positively  on  the  sex  of  either  individual,  in  the  state  in 
which  the  remains  were  found. 

Although  nothing  positive  was  obtained  from  this  testi- 
mony, the  minds  of  the  jurors  were  pointedly  directed  to 
the  circumstance  of  the  sudden  and  unexplained  disappear- 
ance of  the  German  woman  ;  thus  making  an  opening  for 
the  admission  of  a  serious  doubt  connected  with  the  fate 
of  that  person. 

It  was  a  sad  thing  to  reflect  that,  beyond  this  testimony 
of  McBrain  there  was  little  other  direct  evidence  to  offer 
in  behalf  of  the  accused.  It  is  true,  the  insufficiency  of 
that  which  had  been  produced  by  the  prosecution  might 
avail  her  much  ;  and  on  this  Dunscomb  saw  that  his  hopes 
of  an  acquittal  must  depend  ;  but  he  could  not  refrain 
from  regretting,  and  that  bitterly,  that  the  unmoved  reso- 
lution of  his  client  not  to  let  her  past  life  be  known,  must 
so  much  weaken  his  case,  were  she  innocent,  and  so  much 
fortify  that  of  the  prosecution,  under  the  contrary  suppo- 
sition. Another  physician  or  two  were  examined  to  sus- 
tain McBrain  ;  but,  after  all,  the  condition  of  the  remains 
was  such  as  to  render  any  testimony  questionable.  One 
witness  went  so  far  as  to  say,  it  is  true,  that  he  thought  he 
could  distinguish  certain  unerring  signs  of  the  sex  in  the 
length  of  the  lower  limbs,  and  in  other  similar  proof  ;  but 
even  McBrain  was  forced  to  admit  that  such  distinctions 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 


343 


were  very  vague  and  unsatisfactory.  His  own  opinion 
was  formed  more  from  the  size  of  the  bones,  generally, 
than  from  any  other  proof.  In  general,  there  was  little 
difficulty  in  speaking  of  the  sex  of  the  subject,  when  the 
skeleton  was  entire  and  well  preserved,  and  particularly 
when  the  teeth  furnished  some  clew  to  thewage  ;  but,  in 
this  particular  case,  as  has  already  been  stated,  there  could 
be  no  such  thing  as  absolute  certainty. 

It  was  with  a  heavy  heart,  and  with  many  an  anxious  glance 
cast  toward  the  door,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  Michael  Mil- 
lington  enter,  that  Dunscomb  admitted  the  prisoner  had 
no  further  testimony  to  offer.  He  had  spun  out  the  little 
he  did  possess,  in  order  to  give  it  an  appearance  of  im- 
portance which  it  did  not  actually  bring  with  it,  and  to  di- 
vert the  minds  of  the  jurors  from  the  impression  they  had 
probably  obtained,  of  the  remains  necessarily  being  those 
of  Goodwin  and  his  wife. 

The  summing  up  on  both  sides  was  a  grave  and  solemn 
scene.  Here  Williams  was  thrown  out,  the  district  attor- 
ney choosing  to  perform  his  own  duty  on  an  occasion  so 
serious.  Dunscomb  made  a  noble  appeal  to  the  justice  of 
the  court  and  jury;  admonishing  both  of  the  danger  of 
yielding  too  easily  to  circumstantial  evidence.  It  was  the 
best  possible  proof,  he  admitted,  when  the  circumstances 
were  sufficiently  clear  and  sufficiently  shown  to  be  them- 
selves beyond  controversy.  That  Mary  Monson  dwelt 
with  the  Goodwins,  was  in  the  house  at  the  time  of  the 
arson  and  murder,  if  such  crimes  were  ever  committed  at 
all  ;  that  she  escaped  and  all  her  property  was  saved, 
would  of  themselves  amount  to  nothing.  The  testimony, 
indeed,  on  several  of  these  heads,  rather  told  in  her  favor 
than  the  reverse.  The  witnesses  for  the  prosecution 
proved  that  she  was  in  her  room,  beneath  the  roof,  when 
the  flames  broke  out,  and  was  saved  with  difficulty.  This 
was  a  most  material  fact,  and  Dunscomb  turned  it  to  good 
account.  Would  an  incendiary  be  apt  to  place  herself 
in  a  situation  in  which  her  own  life  was  in  danger :  and 
this,  too,  under  circumstances  that  rendered  no  such  meas- 
ure necessary  ?  Then,  all  the  facts  connected  with  Mary 
Monson's  residence  and  habits  told  in  her  favor.  Why 
should  she  remain  so  long  at  the  cottage  if  robbery  was 
her  only  purpose  ?  The  idea  of  her  belonging  to  a  gang 
that  had  sent  her  to  make  discoveries  and  to  execute  its 
plans,  was  preposterous  ;  for  what  hindered  any  of  the 
men  of  that  gang  from  committing  the  crimes  in  the  most 


344  THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

direct  manner,  and  with 'the  least  loss  of  time?  No;  if 
Mary  Monson  were  guilty,  she  was  undoubtedly  guilty  on 
her  own  account ;  and  had  been  acting  with  the  uncertain 
aim  and  hand  of  a  woman.  The  jury  must  discard  all 
notions  of  accomplices,  and  consider  the  testimony 
solely  in  connection  with  the  acts  of  the  accused.  Ac- 
complices, and  those  of  the  nature  supposed,  would 
have  greatly  simplified  the  whole  of  the  wretched  trans- 
action. They  would  have  rendered  both  the  murders 
and  arson  unnecessary.  The  bold  and  strong  do  not  com- 
mit these  crimes,  except  in  those  cases  in  which  resistance 
renders  them  necessary.  Here  was  clearly  no  resistance, 
as  was  shown  by  the  quiet  positions  in  which  the  skele- 
tons had  been  found.  If  a  murder  was  directly  commit- 
ted, it  must  have  been  by  the  blow  on  the  heads  ;  and 
the  jury  was  asked  to  consider  whether  a  delicate  female 
like  Mary  Monson  had  even  the  physical  force  necessary 
to  strike  such  a  blow.  With  what  instrument  was  it  done  ? 
Nothing  of  the  sort  was  found  near  the  bodies  ;  and  no 
proof  of  any  such  blow  was  before  the  jury.  One  wit- 
ness had  said  that  the  iron-work  of  a  plow  lay  quite 
near  the  remains  ;  and  it  had  been  shown  that  Peter  Good- 
win kept  such  articles  in  a  loft  over  his  bedroom.  He 
would  suggest  the  possibility  of  the  fire's  having  com- 
menced in  that  loft,  through  which  the  pipe  of  a  cooking- 
stove  led  ;  of  its  having  consumed  the  beams  of  the  floor  ; 
letting  down  this  plow  and  share  upon  the  heads  of  the 
sleeping  couple  below,  stunning,  if  not  killing  them  ;  thus 
leaving  them  unresisting  subjects  to  the  action  of  the  ele- 
ment. McBrain  had  been  examined  on  this  point,  which 
we  omitted  to  state  in  its  place,  to  prevent'  repetition. 
He,  and  the  two  other  doctors  brought  forward  for  the  de- 
fence, had  tried  to  place  the  plowshare  on  the  skulls,  and 
were  of  opinion  that  the  injuries  might  have  been  in- 
flicted by  that  piece  of  iron.  But  Mary  Monson  could  not 
use  such  an  instrument.  This  was  beyond  all  dispute.  If 
the  plowshare  inflicted  the  blow — and  the  testimony  on 
this  point  was  at  least  entitled  to  respect — then  was  Mary 
Monson  innocent  of  any  murder  committed  by  direct  means. 
It  is  true,  she  was  responsible  for  all  her  acts  ;  and  if  she 
set  fire  to  the  building,  she  was  probably  guilty  of  murder 
as  well  as  of  arson.  But  would  she  have  done  this,  and 
made  no  provision  for  her  own  escape  ?  The  evidence  was 
clear  that  she  was  rescued  by  means  of  a  ladder,  and  through 
a  window  ;  and  that  there  were  no  other  means  of  escape. 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  345 

Dunscomb  reasoned  on  these  several  points  with  great 
force  and  ingenuity.  So  clear  were  his  statements,  so  logi- 
cal his  inferences,  and  so  candid  his  mode  of  arguing,  that 
he  had  produced  a  great  effect  ere  he  closed  this  branch 
of  his  subject.  It  is  true,  that  one  far  more  difficult  re- 
mained to  be  met  ;  to  answer  which  he  now  set  about  with 
fear  and  trembling. 

We  allude  to  the  piece  of  money  alleged  to  have  been 
found  in  Mary  Monson's  purse.  Dunscomb  had  very  lit- 
tle difficulty  in  disposing  of  the  flippant  Widow  Pope  ;  but 
the  Burton  family  gave  him  more  trouble.  Nevertheless, 
it  was  his  duty  to  endeavor  to  get  rid  of  them,  or  at  least 
so  far  to  weaken  their  testimony  as  to  give  his  client  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt.  There  was,  in  truth,  but  one  mode 
of  doing  this.  It  was  to  impress  on  the  jury  the  probabil- 
ity that  the  coin  had  been  changed  in  passing  from  hand 
to  hand.  It  is  true,  it  was  not  easy  to  suggest  any  plausi- 
ble reason  why  such  an  act  of  treachery  should  have  been 
committed  ;  but  it  was  a  good  legal  point  to  show  that  this 
piece  of  money  had  not,  at  all  times,  been  absolutely  under 
the  eye  or  within  the  control  of  the  coroner.  If  there  were 
a  possibility  of  a  change,  the  fact  should  and  ought  to  tell 
in  favor  of  his  client.  Mrs.  Burton  had  made  admission 
on  this  point  which  entitled  the  prisoner  to  press^the  facts 
on  the  minds  of  the  jurors  ;  and  her  counsel  did  not  fail  so 
to  do,  with  clearness  and  energy.  After  all,  this  was  much 
the  most  difficult  point  of  the  case  ;  and  it  would  not  admit 
of  a  perfectly  satisfactory  solution. 

The  conclusion  of  .Dunscomb's  summing  up  was  manly, 
touching,  even  eloquent.  He  spoke  of  a  lone  and  defence- 
less female,  surrounded  by  strangers,  being  dragged  to  the 
bar  on  charges  of  such  gravity ;  pointed  to  his  client, 
where  she  sat  enthralled  by  his  language,  with  all  the 
signs  of  polished  refinement  on  her  dress,  person,  and 
manners  ;  delicate,  feminine,  and  beautiful ;  and  asked  if 
any  one,  who  had  the  soul  and  feelings  of  a  man,  could 
believe  that  such  a  being  had  committed  the  crimes  im- 
puted to  Mary  Monson. 

The  appeal  was  powerful,  and  was  dwelt  on  just  long 
enough  to  give  it  full  and  fair  effect.  It  left  the  bench, 
the  bar,  the  jury-box,  the  whole  audience,  in  fact,  in  tears. 
The  prisoner  alone  kept  an  unmoistened  eye  ;  but  it  was 
in  a  face  flushed  with  feeling.  Her  self-command  was 
almost  supernatural. 


346  THE   WAYS   OF   7 'HE  HOUR. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

s 

I'll  brave  her  to  her  face  : 
I'll  give  my  anger  its  free  course  against  her. 
Thou  shalt  see,  Phcenix,  how  I'll  break  her  pride. 

— The  Distressed  Mother. 

THE  district  attorney  was  fully  impressed  with  the  impor- 
tance of  the  duty  that  had  now  devolved  on  him.  Although 
we  have  daily  proofs  on  all  sides  of  us,  of  the  truth  of  that 
remark  of  Bacon's,  "that  no  man  rises  to  eminence  in  the 
State  without  a  mixture  of  great  and  mean  qualities,"  this 
favorite  of  the  people  had  his  good  points  as  well  as  an- 
other. He  was  a  humane  man;  and,  contrary  to  the  ex' 
pectations,  and  greatly  to  the  disappointment  of  Williams, 
he  now  took  on  himself  the  office  of  summing-up. 

The  public  functionary  commenced  in  a  mild,  quiet  man- 
ner, manifesting  by  the  key  on  which  he  pitched  his  voice 
a  natural  reluctance  to  his  painful  duty  ;  but  he  was  steady 
and  collected.  He  opened  with  a  brief  summary  of  the 
facts.  A  strange  female,  of  high  personal  pretensions,  had 
taken  lodgings  in  an  humble  dwelling.  That  dwelling  con- 
tained a  considerable  sum  of  money.  Some  counted  it  by 
thousands  ;  all  by  hundreds.  In  either  case,  it  was  a  temp- 
tation to  the  covetous  and  ill-disposed.  The  lodgings  were 
unsuited  to  the  habits  of  the  guest ;  but  she  endured  them 
for  several  weeks.  A  fire  occurred,  and  the  house  was 
consumed.  The  remains  of  the  husband  and  wife  were 
found,  as  the  jury  saw  them,  with  marks  of  violence  on 
their  skulls.  A  deadly  blow  had  been  struck  by  some  one. 
The  bureau  containing  the  money  was  found  locked,  but 
the  money  itself  was  missing.  One  piece  of  that  money 
was  known,  and  it  was  traced  to  the  purse  of  the  female 
lodger.  This  stranger  was  arrested  ;  and,  in  her  mode  of 
living  in  the  jail,  in  her  expenditures  of  every  sort,  she 
exhibited  the  habits  and  profusion  of  one  possessed  of  con- 
siderable sums.  Doubtless  many  of  the  reports  in  circu- 
lation were  false  ;  exaggerations  ever  accompanied  each 
statement  of  any  unusual  occurrence  ;  but  enough  was 
proved  to  show  that  Mary  Monson  had  a  considerable 
amount  of  money  at  command.  Whence  came  these  funds  ? 
That  which  was  lightly  obtained  went  lightly.  The  jury 
were  exhorted  to  reject  every  influence  but  that  which  was 


THE   WAYS    Of    THE   HOUR.  347 

sustained  by  the  evidence.  -All  that  had  been  here  stated 
rested  on  uncontradicted,  unresisted  testimony. 

There  was  no  desire  to  weaken  the  force  of  the  defence. 
This  defence  had  been  ingeniously  and  powerfully  pre- 
sented ;  and  to  what  did  it  amount  ?  The  direct,  unequivo- 
cal evidence  of  Mrs.  Burton,  as  to  her  knowledge  of  the 
piece  of  money,  and  all  that  related  to  it,  and  this  evidence 
sustained  by  so  much  that  was  known  to  others,  the  cor- 
oner included,  was  met  by  a  conjecture.  This  conjecture 
was  accompanied  by  an  insinuation  that  some  might  sup- 
pose reflected  on  the  principal  witness;  but  it  was  only 
an  insinuation.  There  were  two  legal  modes  of  attacking 
the  credibility  of  a  witness.  One  was  by  showing  habitual 
mendacity  ;  the  other  by  demonstrating  from  the  evidence 
itself  that  the  testimony  could  not  be  true.  Had  either 
been  done  in  the  present  instance  ?  The  district  attorney 
thought  not.  One,  and  this  the  most  common  course,  had 
not  even  been  attempted.  Insinuations,  rather  than  just 
deductions,  he  was  compelled  to  say,  notwithstanding  his 
high  respect  for  the  learned  counsel  opposed  to  him,  had 
been  the  course  adopted.  That  counsel  had  contended  tnat 
the  circumstances  were  not  sufficient  to  justify  a  verdict 
of  guilty.  Of  this,  the  jury  were  the  sole  judges.  If  they 
believed  Mrs.  Burton,  sustained  as  she  \vas  by  so  much 
other  testimony,  they  must  admit  that  Dorothy  Goodwin's 
money  was  found  in  Mary  Monson's  purse.  This  was  the 
turning  point  of  the  case.  All  depended  on  the  construc- 
tion of  this  one  fact.  He  left  it  to  the  jury,  to  their  good 
sense,  to  their  consciences. 

On  the  part  of  the  defence,  great  stress  had  been  laid 
on  the  circumstance  tnat  Mary  Monson  was  herself  res- 
cued from  the  flames  with  some  difficulty.  But  for  as- 
sistance, she  would  most  probably  have  perished.  The 
district  attorney  desired  to  deny  nothing  that  could  justly 
go  to  prove  the  prisoner's  innocence.  The  fact  was  un- 
questionably as  stated.  But  for  assistance,  Mary  Monson 
might  have  perished.  But  assistance  was  not  wanting  ; 
for  strangers  were  most  opportunely  tit.  hand,  and  they  did 
this  piece  of  good  service.  They  remained  until  all  was 
over,  and  vanished.  No  one  knew  them  ;  whence  they 
came,  or  whither- they  went.  Important  agents  in  saving 
a  life,  they  had  gone  without  their  reward,  and  were  not 
even  named  in  the  newspaper  accounts  of  the  occurrence- 
Reporters  generally  tell  more  than  happens  ;  in  this  in- 
stance, they  were  mute, 


34S  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

As  for  the  danger  of  the  prisoner,  it  might  have  hap- 
pened in  a  variety  of  ways  that  affected  neither  her  guilt 
nor  her  innocence.  After  committing  the  murders,  she  may 
have  gone  into  her  room  and  been  unexpectedly  inclosed 
by  the  flames  ;  or  the  whole  may  have  been  previously 
planned,  in  order  to  give  her  the  plea  of  this  very  danger- 
ous situation,  as  a  proof  of  innocence.  Such  immaterial 
circumstances  were  not  to  overshadow  the  very  material 
facts  on  which  the  prosecution  rested. 

Another  important  question  was  to  be  asked  by  the 
jury — If  Mary  Monson  did  not  commit  those  crimes,  who 
did  ?  It  had  been  suggested  that  the  house  might  have 
taken  fire  by  accident,  and  that  the  plowshare  was  the  real 
cause  of  the  death  of  its  owners.  If  this  were  so,  did  the 
plowshare  remove  the  money  ?  did  the  plowshare  put  the 
notched  piece  in  Mary  Monson's  purse  ? 

Such  is  an  outline  of  the  manner  in  which  the  district  at- 
torney reasoned  on  the  facts.  His  summing-up  made  a 
deep  impression  ;  the  moderation  of  the  manner  in  which 
he  pressed  the  guilt  of  the  accused,  telling  strongly 
against  her.  Nothing  was  said  of  aristocracy,  or  harps,  or 
manners,  or  of  anything  else  that  did  not  fairly  belong  to 
the  subject.  A  great  deal  more  was  said,  of  course  ;  but 
we  do  not  conceive  it  necessary  to  advert  to  it. 

The  charge  was  exceedingly  impartial.  The  judge  made 
a  full  exposition  of  all  the  testimony,  pointed  out  its  legit- 
imate bearing,  and  dissected  its  weak  points.  As  for  the 
opinion  of  McBrain  and  his  associates,  the  court  conceived 
it  entitled  to  a  great  deal  of  consideration.  Here  were 
several  highly  respectable  professional  men  testifying  that, 
in  their  judgment,  both  the  skeletons  were  those  of  fe- 
males. The  German  woman  was  missing.  What  had  be- 
come of  her  ?  In  any  case,  the  disappearance  of  that 
woman  was  very  important.  She  may  have  committed 
the  crimes,  and  absconded  ;  or  one  of  the  skeletons  may 
have  been  hers.  It  was  in  evidence  that  Peter  Goodwin 
and  his  wife  did  not  always  live  in  the  most  happy  mood  ; 
and  he  may  have  laid  hands  on  the  money,  which  was 
probably  his  in  the  eyes  of  the  law,  and  left  the  place. 
He  had  not  been  seen  since  the  fire.  The  jury  must  take 
all  the  facts  into  consideration,  and  decide  according  to 
their  consciences. 

This  charge  was  deemed  rather  favorable  to  the  accused 
than  otherwise.  The  humanity  of  the  judge  was  conspic- 
uous throughout  ;  and  he  leaned  quite  obviously  to  Duns- 


THE   WAYS    OF   T11K   HOUR.  349 

comb's  manner  of  treating  the  danger  of  Mary  Monson 
from  the  flames,  and  dwelt  on  the  fact  that  the  piece  of 
money  was  not  sufficiently  watched  to  make  out  an  abso- 
lute case  of  identity.  When  he  had  done,  the  impression 
was  very  general  that  the  prisoner  would  be  acquitted. 

As  it  was  reasonably  supposed  that  a  case  of  this  im- 
portance would  detain  the  jury  a  considerable  time,  the 
court  permitted  the  prisoner  to  withdraw.  She  left  the 
place,  attended  by  her  two  friends  ;  the  latter  in  tears, 
while  Mary  herself  was  still  seemingly  unmoved.  The 
thoughtful  Mrs.  Gott  had  prepared  refreshments  for  her; 
and,  for  the  first  time  since  her  trial  commenced,  the  fair 
prisoner  ate  heartily. 

"I  shall  owe  my  triumph,  not  to  money,  my  dear  girls," 
she  said,  while  at  table,  "  not  to  friends,  nor  to  a  great 
array  of  counsel  ;  but  to  truth.  I  did  not  commit  these 
crimes  ;  and  on  the  testimony  of  the  State  alone,  with 
scarcely  any  of  my  own,  the  jury  will  have  to  say  as 
much.  No  stain  will  rest  on  my  character,  and  I  can 
meet  my  friends  with  the  unclouded  brow  of  innocence. 
This  is  a  very  precious  moment  to  me  ;  I  would  not  part 
with  it  for  all  the  honors  that  riches  and  rank  can  bestow." 

"  How  strange  that  you,  of  all  women,  my  dear  mam- 
ma," said  Anna,  kissing  her  cheek,  "should  be  accused  of 
crimes  so  horrible  to  obtain  a  little  money  ;  for  this  poor 
Mrs.  Goodwin  could  have  had  no  great  sum  after  all,  and 
you  are  so  rich  !  " 

"  More  is  the  pity  that  I  have  not  made  a  better  use  of 
my  money.  You  are  to  be  envied,  girls,  in  having  the 
fortunes  of  gentlewomen,  and  in  having  no  more.  I  do 
believe  it  is  better  for  our  sex  barely  to  be  independent 
in  their  respective  stations,  and  not  to  be  rendered  rich. 
Man  or  woman,  money  is  a  dangerous  thing,  when  we 
come  to  consider  it  as  a  part  of  our  natural  existence  ;  for 
it  tempts  us  to  fancy  that  money's  worth  gives  rights  that 
nature  and  reason  both  deny.  I  believe  I  should  have  been 
much  happier,  were  I  much  poorer  than  I  am." 

"  But  those  who  are  rich  are  not  very  likely  to  rob  ! " 

"  Certainly  not,  in  the  sense  that  you  mean,  my  dear. 
Send  Marie  Moulin  on  some  errand,  Anna  ;  I  wish  to  tell 
you  and  Sarah  what  I  think  of  this  fire,  and  of  the  deaths 
for  which  I  am  now  on  trial." 

Anna  complied  ;  and  the  handsome  prisoner,  first  look- 
ing cautiously  around  to  make  certain  she  was  not  over 
heard,  proceeded  with  her  opinion. 


350  THE   WAYS    OF    THE   HOUR.  ^ 

11  In  the  first  place,  I  make  no  doubt  Doctor  McBrain 
is  right,  and  that  both  the  skeletons  are  those  of  women. 
The  German  woman  got  to  be  very  intimate  with  Mrs. 
Goodwin  ;  and  as  the  latter  and  Jaer  husband  quarrelled 
daily,  and  fiercely,  I  think  it  probable  that  she  took  this 
woman  into  her  bed,  where  they  perished  together.  I 
should  think  the  fire  purely  accidental,  were  it  not  for  the 
missing  stocking." 

"  That  is  just  what  the  district  attorney  said,"  cried 
Anna,  innocently.  "  Who,  then,  can  have  set  the  house  on 
fire  ? " 

Mary  Monson  muttered  to  herself  ;  and  she  smiled  as 
if  some  queer  fancies  crowded  her  brain  ;  but  no  one  was 
the  wiser  for  her  ruminations.  These  she  kept  to  her- 
self,  and  continued  : 

"Yes,  that  missing  stocking  renders  the  arson  probable. 
The  question  is,  who  did  the  deed  ;  I  or  Mrs.  Burton  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Burton  ! "  exclaimed  both  the  girls,  in  a  breath. 
"Why,  her  character  is  excellent — no  one  has  ever  sus- 
pected her  !  You  cannot  suppose  that  she  is  the  guilty 
person  !  " 

"  It  is  she,  or  it  is  I  ;  which,  I  will  leave  you  to  judge. 
I  was  aware  that  the  notch  was  in  the  coin  ;  for  I  was  about 
to  give  the  other  piece  to  Mrs.  Goodwin,  but  preferred  to 
keep  the  perfect  specimen  myself.  The  notched  piece 
must  have  been  in  the  stocking  until  after  the  fire  ;  and  it 
was  changed  by  some  one  while  my  purse  was  under  ex- 
amination." 

"And  you  suppose  that  Mrs.  Burton  did  it?" 

"  I  confess  to  a  suspicion  to  that  effect.  Who  else  could 
or  would  have  done  it?  I  have  mentioned  this  distrust  to 
Mr.  Dunscomb,  and  he  cross-examined  in  reference  to  this 
fact ;  though  nothing  very  satisfactory  was  extracted.  After 
my  acquittal,  steps  will  be  taken  to  push  the  inquiry  fur- 
ther." 

Mary  Monson  continued  discussing  this  subject  for  quite 
an  hour;  her  wondering  companions  putting  questions. 
At  the  end  of  that  time  Mr.  Gott  appeared  to  say  that  the 
jury  had  come  into  court ;  and  that  it  was  his  duty  to  take 
the  prisoner  there  to  meet  them. 

Perhaps  Mary  Monson  never  looked  more  lovely  than  at 
that  moment.  She  had  dressed  herself  with  great  sim- 
plicity, but  with  exceeding  care  ;  excitement  gave  her  the 
richest  color  ;  hope,  even  delight,  was  glowing  in  her  eyes  ; 
and  her  whole  form  was  expanded  with  the  sentiment  oi 


TJ/E   WA  YS    OF   THE  HOUR.  351 

triumph.  There  is  no  feeling  more  general  than  sympathy 
with  success.  After  the  judge's  charge,  few  doubted  of 
the  result  ;  and  on  every  side,  as  she  walked  with  a  light 
firm  step  to  her  chair,  the  prisoner  read  kindness,  sympa- 
thy, and  exultation.  After  all  that  had  been  said,  and  all 
the  prejudices  that  had  been  awakened,  Mary  Monson  was 
about  to  be  acquitted  !  Even  the  reporters  became  a  little 
humanized  ;  had  juster  perceptions  than  common  of  the 
rights  of  their  fellow-creatures  ;  and  a  more  smiling,  be- 
nignant assembly  was  never  collected  in  that  hall.  In  a 
few  minutes  silence  was  obtained,  and  the  jurors  were 
called.  Every  man  answered  to  his  name,  when  the  pro- 
found stillness  of  expectation  pervaded  the  place. 

"  Stand  up,  Mary  Monson,  and  listen  to  the  verdict," 
said  the  clerk,  not  without  a  little  tremor  in  his  voice. 
''Gentlemen,  what  do  you  say — is  the  prisoner  guilty  or 
not  guilty  ? " 

The  foreman  arose,  stroked  down  a  few  scattering  gray 
hairs,  then,  in  a  voice  barely  audible,  he  pronounced  the 
portentous  word  "  Guilty."  Had  a  bomb  suddenly  ex- 
ploded in  the  room,  it  could  not  have  produced  greater 
astonishment,  and  scarcely  more  consternation.  Anna 
Updyke  darted  forward,  and,  as  with  a  single  bound,  Mary 
Monson  was  folded  in  her  arms. 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  this  warm-hearted  girl,  totally  uncon- 
scious of  the  impropriety  of  her  acts  ;  "  she  is  not  guilty. 
You  do  not  know  her.  I  do.  She  was  my  school-mamma. 
She  is  a  lady,  incapable  of  being  guilty  of  such  crimes. 
No,  no,  gentlemen,  you  will  think  better  of  this,  and  alter 
your  verdict — perhaps  it  was  a  mistake, and  you  meant  to 
say  '  Not  guilty  ! '  " 

"  Who  is  this  young  lady  ?  "  asked  the  judge,  in  a  tremu- 
lous voice — "  a  relative  of  the  prisoner's  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  the  excited  girl,  "  no  relative,  but  a 
very  close  friend.  She  was  my  '  school-mamma'  once,  and 
I  know  she  is  not  a  person  to  rob,  and  murder,  and  set  fire 
to  houses.  Her  birth,  education,  character,  all  place  her 
above  it.  You  will  think  better  of  this,  gentlemen,  and 
change  your  verdict.  Now,  go  at  once  and  do  it,  or  you 
may  distress  her  !  " 

"  Does  any  one  know  who  this  young  lady  is  ?  "  demand- 
ed his  honor,  his  voice  growing  more  and  more  tremulous. 

"  I  am  Anna  Updyke — Doctor  McBrain's  daughter  now, 
and  Uncle  Tom's  niece,"  answered  Anna,  scarce  knowing 
what  she  said.  "  But  never  mind  me — it  is  Mary  Monson, 


352  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

here,  who  has  been  tried,  and  who  has  so  wrongfully  been 
found  guilty.  She  never  committed  these  crimes,  I  tell 
you,  sir — is  incapable  of  committing  them — had  no  motive 
for  committing  them  ;  and  I  beg  you  will  put  a  stop  to 
these  proceedings,  before  they  get  so  far  as  to  make  it  dif- 
ficult to  recede.  Just  tell  the  jury  to  alter  their  verdict. 
No,  no,  Mary  Monson  is  no  murderess !  She  would  no 
more  hurt  the  Goodwins,  or  touch  a  particle  of  their  gold, 
than  either  of  us  all.  You  do  not  know  her,  sir.  If  you 
did,  you  would  smile  at  this  mistake  of  the  jury,  for  it  is 
all  a  cruel  mistake.  Now  do,  my  dear  sir,  send  them  away 
again,  and  tell  them  to  be  more  reasonable." 

"  The  young  lady  had  better  be  removed,"  interposed  the 
judge,  wiping  his  eyes.  "Such  scenes  may  be  natural, 
and  the  court  looks  on  them  leniently ;  but  time  is  pre- 
cious, and  my  duty  renders  it  necessary  to  interpose  my 
authority  to  maintain  the  order  of  our  proceedings.  Let 
some  of  the  ladies  remove  the  young  lady  ;  she  is  too  deli- 
cate for  the  touch  of  a  constable — but  time  is  precious." 

The  judge  was  not  precisely  conscious,  himself,  of  what 
he  was  saying,  though  he  knew  the  general  drift  of  his  re- 
marks. The  process  of  blowing  his  nose  interrupted  his 
speech  more  than  once,  and  Anna  was  removed  by  the 
assistance  of  Marie  Moulin,  Sarah  Wilmeter,  and  good 
Mrs.  Gott  ;  the  latter  sobbing  like  a  child,  while  the  other 
two  scarce  realized  the  consequences  of  the  momentous 
word  that  had  just  been  pronounced.  Dunscomb  took 
care  that  the  whole  group  should  quit  the  building  and  be 
removed  to  the  tavern. 

If  the  bar,  and  the  spectators  in  general,  had  been  sur- 
prised at  the  calmness  of  exterior  maintained  by  the  pris- 
oner, previously  to  the  verdict,  their  wonder  was  sensibly 
increased  by  the  manner  which  succeeded  it.  Mary  Mon- 
son's  beauty  shone  with  increasing  radiance* as  the  justice 
of  her  country  seemed  to  threaten  her  existence  more  and 
more  ;  and  at  the  particular  moment  when  she  was  left 
alone,  by  the  withdrawal  of  her  female  companions,  many 
present  fancied  that  she  had  increased  in  stature.  Cer- 
tainly, it  was  a  rare  sight  to  observe  the  illuminated  coun- 
tenance, the  erect  mien,  and  the  offended  air,  with  which 
one  of  the  weaker  sex,  and  one  so  youthful  and  charming, 
met  a  doom  so  terrible.  Of  the  jury  she  took  no  notice.  Her 
eye  was  on  the  judge,  who  was  endeavoring  to  muster  suf- 
ficient fortitude  to  pronounce  the  final  decision  of  the 
law. 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  353 

"  Before  the  court  pronounces  sentence,  Mr.  Dunscomb," 
observed  that  functionary,  "  it  will  cheerfully  hear  any- 
thing you  may  have  to  offer  in  behalf  of  the  prisoner,  or  it 
will  hear  the  prisoner  herself.  It  is  better,  on  every  ac- 
count, that  all  my  painful  duties  be  discharged  at  once,  in 
order  that  the  prisoner  may  turn  her  attention  to  the  only 
two  sources  of  mercy  that  now  remain  open  to  her — the 
earthly  and  the  heavenly.  My  duty,  as  you  well  know, 
cannot  now  be  avoided  ;  and  the  sooner  it  is  performed, 
perhaps,  the  better  for  all  concerned.  It  shall  be  my  care 
to  see  that  the  condemned  has  time  to  make  all  her  appeals, 
let  them  be  to  the  authorities  here,  or  to  the  more  dreaded 
Power  above." 

"  I  am  taken  so  much  by  surprise,  your  honor,  at  a  ver- 
dict that,  to  say  the  least,  is  given  on  very  doubtful  testi- 
mony, that  I  hardly  know  what  to  urge.  As  the  court, 
however,  is  disposed  to  indulgence,  and  there  will  be  time 
to  look  at  the  law  of  the  case,  as  well  as  to  address  our 
petitions  and  affidavits  to  the  authority  at  Albany,  I  shall 
interpose  no  objection  ;  and,  as  your  honor  well  remarks, 
since  the  painful  duty  must  be  discharged,  it  were  better, 
perhaps,  that  it  were  discharged  now." 

"Prisoner  at  the  bar,"  resumed  the  judge,  "you  have 
heard  the  finding  of  the  jury,  in  your  case.  A  verdict  of 
'  guilty '  has  been  rendered,  and  it  has  become  my  painful 
duty  to  pronounce  the  awful  sentence  of  the  law.  If  you 
have  anything  to  say  previously  to  this,  the  last  and  most 
painful  of  all  my  duties,  the  court  will  give  your  words  a 
kind  and  lenient  hearing." 

In  the  midst  of  a  stillness  that  seemed  supernatural,  the 
sweet  melodious  voice  of  Mary  Monson  was  heard,  <;  first 
gentle,  almost  inaudible,"  but  gathering  strength  as  she 
proceeded,  until  it  became  clear,  distinct,  and  silvery. 
There  are  few  things  that  impart  a  higher  charm  than  the 
voice  ;  and  the  extraordinary  prisoner  possessed  an  organ 
which,  while  it  was  feminine  and  sweet,  had  a  depth  and 
richness  that  at  once  denoted  her  power  in  song.  On  the 
present  occasion  it  was  not  even  tremulous. 

"  I  believe  I  understand  you,  sir,"  Mary  Monson  com- 
menced. "  I  have  been  tried  and  found  guilty  of  having 
murdered  Peter  and  Dorothy  Goodwin,  after  having  robbed 
them,  and  then  of  setting  fire  to  the  house." 

"  You  have  been  tried  for  the  murder  of  Peter  Goodwin, 
only,  the  indictments  for  the  second  murder,  and  for  the 
arson,  not  having  yet  been  tried.  The  court  has  been 

23 


354  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

obliged  to  separate  the  cases,  lest  the  law  be  defeated  on 
mere  technicalities.  This  verdict  renders  further  proceed- 
ings unnecessary,  and  the  two  remaining  indictments  wiK 
probably  never  be  traversed." 

"  I  believe  I  still  understand  you,  sir  ;  and  I  thank  you 
sincerely  for  the  kind  manner  in  which  you  have  com- 
municated these  facts,  as  well  as  for  the  consideration  and 
gentleness  you  have  manifested  throughout  these  proceed- 
ings. It  has  been  very  kind  in  you,  sir ;  and  whatever 
may  come  of  this,  God  will  remember  and  reward  you  for 
it." 

"  The  court  will  hear  you,  Mary  Monson,  if  you  have 
anything  to  say,  before  sentence  be  passed." 

"  Perhaps  I  might  say  and  do  much  to  affect  your  decis- 
ion, sir,"  returned  the  prisoner,  leaning  her  fair  brow,  for 
a  moment,  on  her  hand,  "  but  there  would  be  little  satisfac- 
tion in  it.  It  was  my  wish  to  be  acquitted  on  the  testi- 
mony of  the  State.  I  did  hope  that  this  jury  would  not 
have  seen  the  proofs  of  guilt,  in  the  evidence  that  has  been 
brought  against  me  ;  and  I  confess  there  would  be  very 
little  satisfaction  to  me  in  any  other  acquittal.  As  I  un- 
derstand the  case,  should  I  be  acquitted  as  respects  Peter 
Goodwin,  I  must  still  be  tried  as  respects  his  wife  ;  and 
lastly,  for  setting  fire  to  the  house." 

"  You  are  not  acquitted  of  the  murder  of  Peter  Good- 
win," mildly  interposed  the  judge;  "the  finding  of  the 
court  has  been  just  to  the  contrary." 

"  I  am  aware  of  this,  sir.  America  has  many  enemies. 
I  have  lived  in  foreign  lands,  and  know  this  from  near  and 
long  observation.  There  are  those,  and  those,  too,  who  are 
in  power,  that  would  gladly  see  the  great  example  in  pros- 
perity, peace  and  order,  that  this  country  has  hitherto 
given  to  the  world,  beaten  down  by  our  own  vices,  and  the 
mistaken  uses  to  which  the  people  put  the  blessings  of 
Divine  Providence.  I  do  not  reverence  the  justice  of  my 
country,  as  I  did  ;  it  is  impossible  that  I  should  do  so.  I 
now  see  plainly  that  its  agents  are  not  all  of  the  character 
they  should  be ;  and  that,  so  far  from  Justice's  being  blind 
through  her  impartiality  alone,  she  is  also  blind  through 
her  ignorance.  Why  am  I  found  guilty  of  this  act  ?  On 
what  evidence — or  even  on  what  probability  ?  The  whole  of 
the  proof  is  connected  with  that  piece  of  money.  Mrs.  Bur- 
ton has  testified  that  Mrs.  Goodwin,  herself,  admitted  that  I 
had  given  her  that  coin — just  what  I  told  the  coroner,  and 
which  I  then  saw  was  not  believed,  for  it  has  been  my 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE  HOUR.  355 

misfortune  to  be  tried  by  strangers.  Will  these  gentlemen 
ask  themselves  why  I  have  committed  the  crime  of  which 
they  have  found  me  guilty  ?  It  could  not  be  for  money  ; 
as  of  that  I  have,  of  my  own,  more  than  I  want,  more,  per- 
haps, than  it  is  good  for  me  to  be  mistress  of." 

"Why  have  not  these  facts  been  shown  to  the  jury,  at 
the  proper  time  and  in  the  proper  manner,  if  true  ?  "  de- 
manded the  judge,  kindly.  "  They  are  material,  and  might 
have  influenced  the  verdict." 

The  jury  was  discharged,  but  not  one  of  them  all  had 
left  the  box.  One  or  two  of  them  now  arose,  and  looks 
of  doubt  and  indecision  began  to  flicker  over  their  coun- 
tenances. They  had  been  influenced  by  one  man,  a  friend 
and  political  confidant  of  Williams,  who  had  led  the  un- 
decided to  his  own  opinions.  We  do  not  mean  to  say  that 
this  man  was  perjured,  or  that  he  was  himself  conscious  of 
the  extent  of  the  wrong  he  was  doing ;  but  his  mind  had 
been  perverted  by  the  serpent-like  report,  and  he  had  tried 
the  cause  under  the  influence  of  rumors,  which  had  no 
foundation  in  truth.  The  case  was  one  of  honest  doubt,  as 
no  one  will  deny  ;  but  instead  of  giving  the  accused  the 
benefit  of  this  doubt,  as  by  law  and  in  reason  he  was  bound 
to  do,  he  had  taken  a  bias  altogether  from  outside  influ- 
ences, and  that  bias  he  communicated  to  others,  until  by 
the  sheer  force  of  numbers,  the  few  who  wavered  were 
driven  into  a  corner,  and  soon  capitulated.  Then,  there 
was  a  morbid  satisfaction  in  the  minds  of  several  of  the 
jurors,  in  running  counter  to  the  charge  of  the  judge. 
This  was  a  species  of  independence  that  is  grateful  to 
some  men,  and  they  are  guided  by  their  vanity,  when  they 
fancy  they  are  only  led  by  conscience.  These  malign 
influences  were  unknown  to  themselves  ;  for  not  one  of 
the  twelve  was  absolutely  corrupt,  but  neither  of  them  all 
was  qualified  by  nature,  or  education,  to  be  a  judge,  freed 
from  the  influence  of  the  bench,  in  a  case  affecting  a 
human  life. 

Any  one  in  the  least  observant  of  what  is  going  on  around 
him,  must  have  had  many  opportunities  of  perceiving  how 
strangely  juries  render  their  verdicts,  and  how  much  the 
last  appear  to  be  opposed  to  the  inferences  of  the  looker- 
on,  as  well  as  to  the  expressed  opinions  of  the  courts. 
The  falling  off  in  the  power  of  the  judges  over  the  minds 
of  the  jurors,  we  suppose  to  be  derived  from  a  combination 
of  causes.  The  tendency  of  the  times  is  to  make  men  con- 
fident in  their  own  judgments,  and  to  defer  less  than  for- 


356  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

merly  to  knowledge  and  experience.  Seeing  this  very 
general  trait,  the  judges  themselves  defer  to  the  tendency, 
manifest  less  confidence  in  their  station  and  knowledge 
and  perhaps  really  feel  it  ;  while  the  unceasing  cry  of  the 
infallibility  of  the  common  mind,  induces  the  vulgar,  or 
average  intellect,  to  shrink  from  any  collision  with  that 
which  wears  the  semblance,  even  though  simulated,  of  the 
popular  will.  In  this  way  is  the  institution  of  the  jury 
gradually  getting  to  be  perverted,  rendering  that  which  is 
safe  as  an  human  tribunal  can  well  be,  when  under  the 
guidance  of  the  court,  as  dangerous  as  ignorance,  party, 
self-will  and  obstinacy  can  well  make  it. 

"I  do  not  know,"  resumed  Mary  Monson,  "that  one  is 
yet  obliged,  in  America,  to  lay  open  her  account-books, 
and  show  her  rent-roll,  or  her  bonds  and  mortgages,  in 
order  to  avoid  the  gallows.  I  have  been  told  that  crime 
must  be  brought  home  by  unanswerable  proof,  in  order  to 
convict.  Who  can  say  that  such  has  been  adduced  in  un- 
ease ?  It  has  not  even  been  made  certain  that  a  man  was 
killed,  at  all.  Most  respectable  witnesses  have  testified 
that  they  believe  those  revolting  remains  of  poor  humanity, 
belonged  once  to  women.  Nor  has  it  been  f  shown  that 
any  one  has  been  murdered  The  fire  may  have  been  ac- 
cidental, the  deaths  a  simple  consequence  of  the  fire,  and 
no  one  guilty." 

"You  forget,  Mary  Monson,"  interposed  the  judge, 
mildly,  "  that  the  robbery,  and  the  piece  of  money  found 
in  your  purse,  give  a  color  to  the  supposition  of  crime. 
The  jury  have  doubtless  been  influenced  by  these  facts, 
and  important  facts  they  are.  No  one  can  deny  this  ;  and 
I  think  you  overlook  that  feature  of  your  case.  If,  how- 
ever, your  counsel  has  any  good  reason  to  offer  why  sen- 
tence should  not  how  be  pronounced,  the  court  will  hear 
it.  There  is  no  impatience  on  the  part  of  justice,  which 
would  much  rather  draw  in  than  stretch  forth  its  arm. 
Perhaps,  Mary  Monson,  you  might  do  well  to  leave  to  your 
counsel  the  objections  you  wish  to  urge,  and  let  them  be 
presented  to  us  in  a  form  that  we  can  recognize." 

"  I  see  no  great  use  in  deferring  the  sentence,"  Duns- 
comb  remarked,  quietly  enough  for  the  circumstances. 
"  It  must  be  pronounced  ;  and  any  question  of  law,  should 
one  occur  to  my  mind,  though  I  confess  none  does  at  pres- 
ent, can  as  well  be  raised  after  this  ceremony  as  before." 

"  I  am  disposed  to  wait,  if  a  good  reason  can  be  urged 
for  the  delay.  I  will  acknowledge  that  the  case  is  one  in- 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  357 

volved  in  a  great  deal  of  doubt  and  uncertainty,  and  am 
much  inclined  to  do  all  the  law  will  sanction.  Still,  I  leave 
you  to  decide  on  your  own  course." 

"  In  my  judgment,  may  it  please  your  honor,  we  shall 
have  to  go  to  the  executive,  and  it  were,  perhaps,  better  to 
get  all  the  most  revolting  parts  of  the  case  over,  while  the 
accused — 

"  Convicted,  Mr.  Dunscomb — it  is  a  distinction  painful 
to  make,  but  one  that  cannot  now  be  avoided." 

"  I  beg  pardon  of  the  court — convicted." 

"Yes,"  said  Mary  Monson,  solemnly,  "I  am  convicted, 
and  of  the  revolting  crime  of  murder.  All  my  hopes  of  a 
triumphant  acquittal  are  blasted  ;  and,  whatever  may  be 
the  termination  of  this  extraordinary  affair,  a  dark  spot 
will  always  rest  on  my  name.  Sir,  I  am  as  innocent  of  this 
crime  as  the  youngest  child  in  your  county.  I  may  have 
be'en  wilful,  perverse,  ill-judging,  unwise,  and  have  a  hun- 
dred other  failings  ;  but  neither  Peter  nor  Dorothy  Good- 
win did  I  ever  harm.  I  had  not  been  long  in  the  house 
before  I  discovered  that  the  old  couple  were  not  happy 
together.  They  quarrelled  often,  and  bitterly.  The  wife 
was  managing,  dictatorial,  and  sordidly  covetous,  while  he 
used  every  shilling  he  could  obtain,  for  the  purchase  of 
liquors.  His  mind  was  affected  by  his  debauches,  and  he 
drivelled.  In  this  state,  he  came  to  me  for  sympathy  and 
advice.  There  were  passages  in  my  own  past  life,  short  as 
it  has  been,  which  disposed  me  to  feel  for  one  who  was  not 
happy  in  the  married  state.  It  is  no  matter  what  my  own 
experience  has  been  ;  I  had  sympathy  for  that  poor  man. 
So  far  from  wishing  to  do  him  harm,  I  desired  to  do  him 
good.  I  Advised  him  to  quit  the  house,  and  live  apart 
from  his  wife,  for  a  time,  at  least  ;  and  this  he  consented 
to  do,  if  I  would  furnish  him  with  the  means.  Those  means 
I  promised  ;  and,  that  he  might  not  suffer,  being  of  only 
feeble  intellect,  and  in  order  to  keep  him  from  liquor,  I 
had  directed  two  of  my  agents  to  come  to  the  house  early 
in  the  morning  of  the  very  day  that  the  fire  happened,  that 
they  might  convey  Peter  Goodwin  to  another  residence, 
where  he  would  be  secret  and  safe,  until  his  wife  might 
repent  of  her  treatment  of  him.  It  was  fortunate  for  me 
that  I  had  done  this.  Those  two  men,  servants  of  my  own, 
in  the  dress  of  countrymen,  were  the  instruments  of  saving 
my  life  ;  without  their  aid,  I  should  have  perished  in  the 
flames.  What  they  did,  and  how  they  did  it,  it  would  be 
premature  now  tc  say.  Alas !  alas  !  I  have  not  been  ac- 


*.?8  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

quitted  as  I  desired  to  be,  and  a  dark  shadow  will  forevei 
rest  on  my  name  !  " 

For  the  first  time,  a  doubt  of  the  sanity  of  the  prisoner 
crossed  the  mind  of  the  judge.  It  was  not  so  much  the 
incoherence  of  her  language,  as  her  eye,  the  flushed  cheek, 
and  a  certain  air  of  stealthy  cunning,  that  awakened  this 
distrust.  Nevertheless,  Mary  Monson's  manner  was  sin- 
cere, her  language  chosen  and  perfectly  proper,  and  her 
explanations  not  without  their  force.  There  was  some- 
thing so  strange,  however,  in  a  portion  of  her  statements  ; 
so  irreconcilable  with  a  sound  discretion,  that,  taken  with 
the  little  which  had  come  to  light  concerning  this  singular 
woman's  past  life,  the  doubt  arose. 

"  Perhaps  it  were  better,  Mr.  District  Attorney,"  the 
judge  observed,  "if  we  delay  the  sentence." 

"As  your  honor  may  think  fit.  The  State  is  not  over- 
anxious for  life." 

"  What  say  you,  Mr.  Dunscomb — shall  there  be  delay, 
or  shall  I  sentence  ? " 

"As  the  sentence  must  come,  the  sooner  it  is  over,  the 
better.  We  have  no  ground  on  which  to  carry  up  the  case, 
the  jury  being  judges  of  the  facts.  Our  principal  hope 
must  be  in  the  discretion  of  the  governor." 

"  Mary  Monson,"  continued  the  judge,  evidently  treating 
the  affair  as  purely  a  matter  of  form,  "you  have  been  tried 
for  feloniously  depriving  Peter  Goodwin  of  his  life " 

"I  never  did  it,"  interrupted  the  prisoner,  in  a  voice  so 
low  as  to  be  melodious,  yet  so  clear  as  to  be  audible  as  the 
sound  of  a  clarion.  "  These  men  have  been  influenced  by 
the  rumors  they  have  heard,  and  were  not  fit  to  act  as  my 
judges.  Men  should  have  minds  superior  to  mere  reports 
to  sit  in  that  box." 

"My  duty  is  to  pronounce  the  sentence  of  the  law.  After 
a  fair  trial,  and,  so  far  as  it  appears  to  us,  by  an  impartial 
jury,  you  have  been  found  guilty.  For  reasons  that  are  of 
sufficient  weight  to  my  mind,  I  shall  not  dwell  on  the 
character  of  the  awful  change  you  will  have  to  undergo, 
should  this  decree  be  put  in  force,  but  confine  myself 
simply  to  the  duty  of  pronouncing  the  sentence  of  the 
law,  which  is  this  :  that  you  be  carried  back  to  the  jail, 
and  there  be  guarded,  until  Friday,  the  sixth  day  of  Sep- 
tember next,  when  between  the  hours  of  twelve  and  two 
P.M.,  you  be  carried  to  the  place  of  execution,  and  hanged 
by  the  neck,  until  you  are  dead — and  God  have  mercy  on 
your  soul ! " 


THE   WA  YS   OF   THE   HOUR.  359 

A  shudder  passed  through  the  audience,  at  hearing 
language  like  this  applied  to  a  person  of  Mary  Mon- 
son's  appearance,  education  and  sex.  This  feeling  might 
have  manifested  itself  more  strongly,  had  not  Mrs.  Horton 
attracted  attention  to  herself,  by  forcing  her  way  through 
the  crowd,  until  she  stood  within  the  bar.  Here  the  good 
woman,  accustomed  to  bandy  words  with  her  guests,  did 
not  scruple  to  make  her  presence  known  to  the  court,  by 
calling  out — 

"  They  tell  me,  your  honor,  that  Mary  Monson  has  just 
been  found  guilty  of  the  murder  of  Peter  Goodwin  ?" 

"  It  is  so,  my  good  woman — but  that  case  is  ended.  Mr. 
Sheriff,  remove  the  prisoner — time  is  precious — 

"  Yes,  your  honor,  and  so  is  eternity.  Mary  Monson  is 
no  more  guilty  of  taking  the  life  of  Peter  Goodwin  than  I 
am  guilty.  I've  always  said  some  great  disgrace  would  be- 
fall our  juries,  one  of  these  days,  and  now  my  prophecy 
will  come  true.  Dukes  is  disgraced.  Constable,  let  that 
poor  man  come  within  the  bar." 

The  drivelling  creature  who  entered  the  room  of  Mc- 
Brain  tottered  forward,  when  twenty  voices  cried  aloud 
the  name  of  "Peter  Goodwin''  Every  word  that  Mary 
Monson  had  stated  was  true  ! 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Now  Marcia,  now  call  up  to  thy  assistance, 
Thy  wonted  strength  and  constancy  of  mind  ; 
Thou  can'st  not  put  it  to  a  greater  trial. — ADDISON. 

BENCH,  bar,  jury,  witnesses  and  audience,  were  all  as- 
tounded. The  trial  had  been  carried  on  in  the  most  per- 
fect good  faith  ;  and  not  a  human  being  but  the  few  who 
had  felt  the  force  of  McBrain's  testimony,  doubted  of  the 
death  of  the  individual  who  now  appeared  alive,  if  not 
well,  in  open  court.  The  reader  can  better  imagine  than 
we  can  describe,  the  effects  of  a  resurrection  so  entirely 
unexpected. 

When  the  confusion  naturally  produced  by  such  a  scene 
had  a  little  subsided  ;  when  all  had  actually  seen,  and  many 
had  actually  felt,  the  supposed  murdered  man,  as  if  to  as- 
sure themselves  of  his  being  really  in  the  flesh,  order  was 
restored  ;  and  the  court  and  bar  began  to  reflect  on  the 
course  next  to  be  pursued. 


360  THE   WAYS    OF  THE   HOUR. 

"I  suppose,  Mr.  District  Attorney,"  observed  his  honor, 
"  there  is  no  mistake  in  the  person  of  this  individual  ;  but 
it  were  better  if  we  had  an  affidavit  or  two.  Will  you  walk 
this  way,  sir  ? " 

A  long,  private  conference,  now  took  place  between  the 
public  prosecutor  and  the  judge.  Each  expressed  his  as- 
tonishment at  the  result,  as  well  as  some  indignation  at 
the  deception  which  had  been  practised  on  the  court. 
This  indignation  was  a  little  mollified  by  the  impression, 
now  common  to  both,  that  Mary  Monson  was  a  person  not 
exactly  in  her  right  mind.  There  was  so  much  deception 
practised  among  persons  accused  of  crimes,  however,  and 
in  connection  with  this  natural  infirmity,  that  public  func- 
tionaries like  themselves  were  necessarily  very  cautious  in 
admitting  the  plea.  The  most  offensive  part  of  the  whole 
affair  was  the  discredit  brought  on  the  justice  of  Dukes  ! 
It  was  not  in  nature  for  these  individuals  to  be  insensible 
to  the  sort  of  disgrace  the  reappearance  of  Peter  Goodwin 
entailed  on  the  county  and  circuit ;  and  there  was  a  very 
natural  desire  to  wipe  off  the  stain.  The  conference  lasted 
until  the  affidavits  to  establish  the  facts  connected  with 
Goodwin's  case  were  ready. 

"  Had  these  affidavits  been  presented  earlier,"  said  his 
honor,  as  soon  as  the  papers  were  read,  "  sentence  would 
not  have  been  pronounced.  The  case  is  novel,  and  I  shall 
want  a  little  time  to  reflect  on  the  course  I  am  to  take. 
The  sentence  must  be  gotten  rid  of  by  some  means  or 
other ;  and  it  shall  be  my  care  to  see  it  done.  I  hope, 
brother  Dunscomb,  the  counsel  for  the  accused  have  not 
been  parties  to  this  deception  ? " 

"  I  am  as  much  taken  by  surprise  as  your  honor  can 
possibly  be,"  returned  the  party  addressed,  with  earnest- 
ness, "  not  having  had  the  most  remote  suspicion  of  the 
existence  of  the  man  said  to  have  been  murdered  ;  else 
would  all  the  late  proceedings  have  been  spared.  As  to 
the  course  to  be  taken  next,  I  would  respectfully  suggest 
that  the  Code  be  examined.  It  is  an  omnium  gatherum  ; 
and  must  contain  something  to  tell  us  how  to  undo  all  we 
have  done." 

"  It  were  better  for  all  parties  had  there  so  been.  There 
are  still  two  indictments  pending  over  Mary  Monson  :  one 
for  the  arson,  and  the  other  for  the  murder  of  Dorothy 
Goodwin.  Mr.  District  Attorney  feels  the  necessity  of 
trying  these  cases,  or  one  of  them  at  least,  in  vindication 
of  the  justice  of  the  State  and  county ;  and  I  am  inclined 


THE    WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  361 

to  think  that,  under  all  the  circumstances,  this  course 
should  be  taken.  I  trust  we  shall  have  no  more  sur- 
prises, and  that  Dorothy  Goodwin  will  be  brought  forward 
at  once,  if  still  living — time  is  precious." 

"  Dorothy  Goodwin  is  dead;"  said  Mary  Monson,  sol- 
emnly, "  Poor  woman  !  she  was  called  away  suddenly, 
and  in  her  sins.  Little  fear  of  her  ever  coming  here  to 
flout  your  justice." 

"  It  may  be  well  to  caution  your  client,  Mr.  Dunscomb, 
against  hasty  and  indiscreet  admissions.  Let  the  accused 
be  arraigned,  and  a  jury  be  impanelled.  Which  case  do 
you  choose  to  move  on,  Mr.  District  Attorney  ? " 

Dunscomb  saw  that  his  honor  was  offended,  and  much 
in  earnest.  He  was  offended  himself,  and  half  disposed 
to  throw  up  his  brief  ;  but  he  felt  for  the  situation  of  a 
lovely  and  defenceless  woman.  Then  his  doubts  touching 
his  client's  sanity  began  to  take  the  character  of  certainty  ; 
and  he  saw  how  odious  it  would  be  to  abandon  one  so 
afflicted  in  her  emergency.  He  hinted  his  suspicion  to 
the  court  ;  but  was  told  that  the  fact,  under  all  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  case,  was  one  properly  for  the  jury. 
After  reflection,  the  advocate  determined  not  to  desert  his 
trust. 

We  pass  over  the  preliminary  proceedings.  A  jury  was 
impanelled  with  very  little  difficulty  ;  not  a  challenge  hav- 
ing been  made.  It  was  composed,  in  part,  of  those  who 
had  been  in  the  box  on  the  late  occasion  ;  and  in  part  of 
new  men.  There  was  an  air  of  earnestness  and  business 
about  them  all,  that  Timms  did  not  like,  but  it  was  too  late 
to  raise  objections.  To  own  the  truth,  the  senior  counsel 
cared  much  less  than  before  for  the  result ;  feeling  satisfied 
that  his  contemplated  application  at  Albany  would  meet 
writh  consideration.  It  is  true,  Mary  Monson  was  no  anti- 
renter.  She  could  not  come  forward  with  her  demand  for 
mercy  with  hands  dyed  in  the  blood  of  an  officer  of  that 
public  which  lives  under  the  deception  of  fancying  it  rules 
the  land  ;  murderers  who  added  to  their  crimes  the  hateful 
and  pestilent  fraud  of  attempting  to  cloak  robbery  in  the 
garb  of  righteous  liberty  ;  nor  could  she  come  sustained 
by  numbers  around  the  ballot-box,  and  bully  the  executive 
into  acts  which  the  reason  and  conscience  of  every  honest 
man  condemn  ;  but  Dunscomb  believed  that  she  might 
come  with  the  plea  of  a  being  visited  by  the  power  of  her 
Creator,  in  constituting  her  as  she  was,  a  woman  not  mor- 
ally accountable  for  her  acts. 


362  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

All  the  leading  facts,  as  shown  on  the  former  trial,  were 
shown  on  this.  When  the  country  practitioners  were 
called  on  to  give  their  opinions  concerning  the  effect  of 
the  blow,  they  necessarily  became  subject  to  the  cross- 
examination  of  the  counsel- for  the  prisoner,  who  did  not 
spare  them. 

"Were  you  examined,  sir,  in  the  late  trial  of  Mary  Mon- 
son,  for  the  murder  of  Peter  Goodwin  ? "  demanded  Duns- 
comb  of  the  first  of  these  modern  Galens  who  was  put  on 
the  stand. 

"  I  was,  sir." 

"What  did  you  say  on  that  occasion  " — looking  at  his 
notes  of  the  other  trial — "  touching  the  sex  of  the  per 
sons  to  whom  those  skeletons  were  thought  to  have  be- 
longed ? " 

"  I  said  I  believed — not  knew,  but  believed,  they  were  the 
remains  of  Peter  and  Dorothy  Goodwin." 

"  Did  you  not  use  stronger  language  than  that  ? " 

"  Not  that  I  remember.  I  may  have  done  so  ;  but  I  do 
not  remember  it." 

"  Did  you  not  say  you  had  '  no  doubt '  that  those  were  the 
remains  of  Peter  and  Dorothy  Goodwin  ?" 

"I  may  have  said  as  much  as  that.  Now  you  mention 
the  words,  I  believe  I  did." 

"  Do  you  think  so  now  ?" 

"  Certainly  not.  I  cannot  think  so,  after  what  I  have 
seen." 

"  Do  you  know  Peter  Goodwin,  personally  ?  " 

"  Very  well.  I  have  practised  many  years  in  this  neigh- 
borhood." 

"  Whom,  then,  do  you  say  that  this  unfortunate  man 
here,  whom  we  see  alive,  though  a  driveller,  really  is  ? " 

"  Peter  Goodwin — he  who  was  thought  to  have  been 
murdered.  We  are  all  liable  to  mistakes." 

"You  have  testified  in  chief  that,  in  your  judgment,  the 
two  persons,  of  whom  we  have  the  remains  here  in  court, 
were  stunned  at  least,  if  not  absolutely  killed,  by  the  blow 
that  you  think  fractured  each  of  their  skulls.  Now,  I 
would  ask  if  you  think  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  possesses 
the  physical  force  necessary  to  enable  her  to  strike  such  a 
blow  ?" 

"  That  would  depend  on  the  instrument  she  used.  A 
human  skull  may  be  fractured  easily  enough  by  a  moder- 
ate blow  struck  by  a  heavy  instrument." 

"What  sort  of  instrument,  for  instance  ?" 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  363 

"  A  sword — a  bar  of  iron — or  anything  that  has  weight 
and  force." 

"  Do  you  believe  those  fractures  were  given  by  the  same 
blow?" 

"I  do.     By  one  and  the  same  blow." 

"Do  you  think  Mary  Monson  possesses  the  strength 
necessary  to  cause  those  two  fractures  at  a  single  blow  ? " 

Witness  had  no  opinion  on  the  subject. 

"  Are  the  fractures  material  ?  " 

"  Certainly — and  must  have  required  a  heavy  blow  to 
produce  them." 

This  was  all  that  could  be  got  from  either  of  the  wit- 
nesses on  that  material  point.  As  respected  McBrain,  he 
was  subsequently  examined  in  reference  to  the  same  facts. 
Dunscomb  made  good  use  of  this  witness,  who  now  com- 
manded the  respect  of  all  present.  In  the  first  place  he 
was  adroitly  offered  to  the  jury,  as  the  professional  man 
who  had,  from  the  first,  given  it  as  his  opinion  that  both 
the  skeletons  were  those  of  females  ;  and  this  in  the  face 
of  all  the  collected  wisdom  of  Dukes  County  ;  an  opinion 
that  was  now  rendered  so  probable  as  almost  to  amount  to 
certainty.  He  (Dunscomb)  believed  most  firmly  that  the 
remains  were  those  of  Dorothy  Goodwin  and  the  German 
woman  who  was  missing. 

"Have  you  examined  these  skeletons,  Dr.  McBrain?" 
Dunscomb  asked. 

"  I  have,  sir  ;  and  carefully,  since  the  late  trial." 

"  How  do  you  think  the  persons  to  whom  they  belonged 
came  to  their  deaths  ? " 

"  I  find  fractures  in  the  skulls  of  both.  If  they  lie  now 
as  they  did  when  the  remains  were  found  (a  fact  that  had 
been  proved  by  several  witnesses),  I  am  of  the  opinion 
that  a  single  blow  inflicted  the  injuries  on  both  ;  it  may  be 
that  blow  was  not  sufficient  to  produce  death  ;  but  it  must 
have  produced  a  stupor,  or  insensibility,  which  would  pre- 
vent the  parties  from  seeking  refuge  against  the  effects  of 
the  flames " 

"  Is  the  learned  witness  brought  to  sum  up  the  cause  ?" 
demanded  Williams,  with  one  of  those  demoniacal  sneers 
of  his,  by  means  of  which  he  sometimes  carried  off  a  ver- 
dict. "  I  wish  to  know,  that  I  may  take  notes  of  the  course 
of  this  argument." 

McBrain  drew  back,  shocked  and  offended.  He  was 
naturally  diffident,  as  his  friend  used  to  admit,  in  everything 
but  wives  :  and  as  regarded  them  "  he  had  the  impudence 


364  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

of  the  devil.  Ned  would  never  give  up  the  trade  until  he 
had  married  a  dozen,  if  the  law  would  see  him  out  in  it. 
He  ought  to  have  been  a  follower  of  the  great  Mohammed, 
who  made  it  a  point  to  take  a  new  wife  at  almost  every 
new  moon  !  "  The  judge  did  not  like  this  sneer  of  Williams  ; 
and  this  so  much  the  less,  because,  in  common  with  all 
around  him,  he  had  imbibed  a  profound  respect  for  the 
knowledge  of  the  witness.  It  is  true,  he  was  very  much 
afraid  of  the  man,  and  dreaded  his  influence  at  the  polls  ; 
but  he  really  had  too  much  conscience  to  submit  to  every- 
thing. A  judge  may  yet  have  a  conscience — if  the  code 
will  let  him. 

"This  is  very  irregular,  Mr.  Williams,  not  to  say  im- 
proper, "  his  honor  mildly  remarked.  "  The  witness  has  said 
no  more  than  he  has  a  right  to  say  ;  and  the  court  must 
see  him  protected.  Proceed  with  your  testimony,  sir." 

"  I  have  little  more  to  say,  if  it  please  the  court,"  re- 
sumed McBrain,  too  much  dashed  to  regain  his  self-posses- 
sion in  a  moment.  As  this  was  all  Williams  wanted,  he 
permitted  him  to  proceed  in  his  own  way ;  and  all  the 
doctor  had  to  say  was  soon  told  to  the  jury.  The  counsel 
for  the  prosecution  manifested  great  tact  in  not  cross- 
examining  the  witness  at  all.  In  a  subsequent  stage  of 
the  trial,  Williams  had  the  impudence  to  insinuate  to  the 
jury  that  they  did  not  attach  sufficient  importance  to  his 
^testimony,  to  subject  him  to  this  very  customary  ordeal. 

But  the  turning  point  of  this  trial,  as  it  had  been  that  of 
the  case  which  preceded  it,  was  the  evidence  connected 
with  the  piece  of  money.  As  the  existence  of  the  notch 
was  now  generally  known,  it  was  easy  enough  to  recognize 
the  coin  that  had  been  found  in  Mary  Monson's  purse  ;  thus 
depriving  the  accused  of  one  of  her  simplest  and  best 
means  of  demonstrating  the  ignorance  of  the  witnesses. 
The  notch,  however,  was  Mrs.  Burton's  great  mark,  under 
favor  of  which  her  very  material  testimony  was  now  given 
as  it  had  been  before. 

Dunscomb  was  on  the  point  of  commencing  the  cross- 
examination,  when  the  clear  melodious  voice  of  Mary  Mon- 
son  herself  was  heard  for  the  first  time  since  the  commence- 
ment of  the  trial. 

"  Is  it  permitted  to  me  to  question  this  witness?"  demanded 
the  prisoner. 

"  Certainly,"  answered  the  judge.  "It  is  the  right  of 
every  one  who  is  arraigned  by  the  country.  Ask  any 
question  that  you  please." 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   FT  OUR.  365 

This  was  a  somewhat  liberal  decision  as  to  the  right  of 
cross-examining,  and  the  accused  put  on  it  a  construction 
almost  as  broad  as  the  privilege.  As  for  the  witness,  it  was 
very  apparent  she  had  little  taste  for  the  scrutiny  that  she 
probably  foresaw  she  was  about  to  undergo ;  and  her 
countenance,  attitude,  and  answers,  each  and  all  betrayed 
how  much  distaste  she  had  for  the  whole  procedure.  As 
permission  was  obtained,  however,  the  prisoner  did  not 
hesitate  to  proceed. 

"  Mrs.  Burton,"  said  Mary  Monson,  adopting,  as  well  as 
she  knew  how,  the  manner  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  bar, 
"I  wish  you  to 'tell  the  court  and  jury  when  you  first  saw 
the  notched  piece  of  money  ? " 

"When  I  first  saw  it?  I  saw  it  first,  when  Aunt  Dolly 
first  showed  it  to  me,"  answered  the  witness. 

Most  persons  would  have  been  dissatisfied  with  this  an- 
swer, and  would  probably  have  caused  the  question  to  be 
repeated  in  some  other  form  ;  but  Mary  Monson  seemed 
content,  and  went  on  putting  her  questions,  just  as  if  she 
had  obtained  answers  to  meet  her  views. 

"  Did  you  examine  it  well  ? " 

"As  well  as  I  desired  to.  There  was  nothing  to  prevent 
it." 

"  Did  you  know  it  immediately,  on  seeing  it  in  my 
purse  ?" 

"  Certainly — as  soon  as  I  saw  the  notch." 

"  Did  Mrs.  Goodwin  point  out  the  notch  to  you,  or  did 
you  point  out  the  notch  to  her  ? " 

"  She  pointed  it  out  to  me  ;  she  feared  that  the  notch 
might  lessen  the  value  of  the  coin." 

"All  this  I  have  heard  before  ;  but  I  now  ask  you,  Mrs. 
Burton,  in  the  name  of  that  Being  whose  eye  is  every- 
where, did  you  not  yourself  put  that  piece  of  money  in 
my  purse,  when  it  was  passing  from  hand  to  hand,  and 
take  out  of  it  the  piece  without  a  notch  ?  Answer  me,  as 
you  have  a  regard  for  your  soul?" 

Such  a  question  was  altogether  out  of  the  rules  regulat- 
ing the  queries  that  may  be  put  to  witnesses,  an  answer 
in  the  affirmative  going  directly  to  criminate  the  respond- 
ent;  but  the  earnest  manner,  solemn  tones,  and,  we  may 
add,  illuminated  countenance  of  Mary  Monson,  so  far  im- 
posed on  the  woman,  that  she  quite  lost  sight  of  her  rights, 
if  she  ever  knew  them.  What  is  much  more  remarkable, 
neither  of  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution  interposed  an 
objection.  •  The  district  attorney  was  willing  that  justice 


366  rHE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

should  have  its  way  ;  and  Williams  began  to  think  it  might 
be  prudent  to  manifest  less  anxiety  for  a  conviction  than 
he  had  done  in  the  case  in  which  the  party  murdered  had 
been  resuscitated.  The  judg'e  was  entranced  by  the  pris- 
oner's manner. 

"  I  believe  I  have  as  much  regard  for  my  soul  as  any 
of  the  neighbors  have  for  theirs,"  answered  Mrs.  Burton, 
sullenly. 

"  Let  us  learn  that  in  your  reply.  Did  you,  or  did  you 
not,  change  those  pieces  of  gold?" 

"  Perhaps  I  might.  It's  hard  to  say,  when  so  much  was 
said  and  done." 

"  How  came  you  with  the  other  piece,  with  which  to 
make  the  exchange  ?  Answer,  Sarah  Burton,  as  you  fear 
God?" 

The  witness  trembled  like  an  aspen-leaf.  So  remarkable 
was  the  scene,  that  no  one  thought  of  interfering  ;  but  the 
judge,  the  bar,  and  the  jury,  seemed  equally  willing  to 
leave  the  two  females  to  themselves,  as  the  most  efficient 
means  of  extorting  the  truth.  Mary  Monson's  color 
heightened ;  her  mien  and  countenance  grew,  as  it  were, 
with  the  occasion  ;  while  Sarah  Burton's  became  paler 
and  paler,  as  each  question  was  put,  and  the  reply  pressed. 

"  I  can  have  money,  I  hope,  as  well  as  other  folks," 
answered  the  witness. 

"  That  is  no  reply.  How  came  you  with  the  piece  of 
gold  that  is  notched,  that  you  could  exchange  it  for  the 
piece  which  was  not  notched,  and  which  was  the  one  really 
found  in  my  purse  ?  Answer  me  that,  Sarah  Burton  ; 
here,  where  we  both  stand  in  the  presence  of  our  great 
Creator  ?  " 

"  There's  no  need  of  your  pressing  a  body  so  awfully — I 
don't  believe  it's  law." 

"  I  repeat  the  question — or  I  will  answer  it  for  you. 
When  you  fired  the  house " 

The  woman  screamed,  and  raised  her  hands  in  natural 
horror. 

"  I  never  set  the  house  on  fire,"  she  cried.  "  It  took 
from  the  stove-pipe  in  the  garret,  where  it  had  taken  twice 
before." 

"  How  can  you  know  that,  unless  you  saw  it  ?  How  see 
it,  unless  present  ? " 

"  I  was  not  there,  and  did  not  see  it ;  but  I  know  the 
garret  had  caught  twice  before  from  that  cook-stove  pipe. 
Aunt  Dolly  was  very  wrong  to  neglect  it  as  she  did." 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  365 

"  And  the  blows  on  the  head — who  struck  those  blows, 
Sarah  Burton  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  I  wasn't  there — no  one  but  a  fool 
could  believe  y0u  have  strength  to  do  it." 

"  How,  then,  was  it  done  ?  Speak — I  see  it  in  your 
mind?" 

"  I  saw  the  plowshare  lying  on  the  heads  of  the  skele- 
tons ;  and  I  saw  Moses  Steen  throw  it  off,  in  the  confusion 
of  first  raking  the  embers.  Moses  will  be  likely  to  remem- 
ber it,  if  sent  for,  and  questioned." 

Here  was  a  most  important  fact  elicited  under  the  im- 
pulse of  self-justification  ;  and  a  corresponding  expression 
of  surprise  passed  in  a  murmur,  through  the  audience.  The 
eye  of  Mary  Monson  kindled  with  triumph  ;  and  she  con- 
tinued with  renewed  powers  of  command  over  the  will  and 
conscience  of  the  witness. 

"  This  is  well,  Sarah  Burton — it  is  right,  and  what  you 
ought  to  say.  You  think  that  the  fire  was  accidental,  and 
that  the  fractured  skulls  came  from  the  fall  of  the  plow?" 

"  I  do.  I  know  that  the  plow  stood  in  the  garret,  di- 
rectly over  the  bed,  and  the  stove-pipe  passed  quite  near 
it.  There  was  an  elbow  in  that  pipe,  and  the  danger  was 
at  that  elbow." 

"  This  is  well ;  and  the  eye  above  looks  on  you  with  less 
displeasure,  Sarah  Burton  " — as  this  was  said,  the  witness 
turned  her  eyes  timidly  upward,  as  if  to  assure  herself  of 
the  fact.  "  Speak  holy  truth,  and  it  will  soon  become  be- 
nignant and  forgiving.  Now  tell  me  how  you  came  by 
the  stocking  and  its  contents  ?" 

"  The  stocking  !  "  said  the  witness,  starting,  and  turning 
white  as  a  sheet.  "Who  says  I  took  the  stocking  ?" 

"  I  do.  I  know  it  by  that  secret  intelligence  which  has 
been  given  me  to  discover  truth.  Speak,  then,  Sarah,  and 
tell  the  court  and  jury  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and 
nothing  but  the  truth." 

"  Nobody  saw  me  take  it ;  and  nobody  can  say  I  took  it." 

"  Therein  you  are  mistaken.  You  were  seen  to  take  it. 
I  saw  it,  for  one  ;  but  there  was  another  who  saw  it,  with 
its  motive,  whose  eye  is  ever  on  us.  Speak,  then,  Sarah, 
and  keep  nothing  back." 

"  I  meant  no  harm,  if  I  did  take  it.  There  was  so  many 
folks  about,  I  was  afraid  that  some  stranger  might  lay 
hands  on  it.  That's  all." 

"  You  were  seen  to  unlock  the  drawers,  as  you  stood  alone 
near  the  bureau,  in  the  confusion  <a.nd  excitement  of  the 


368  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

finding  of  the  skeletons.  You  did  it  stealthily,  Sarah  Bur- 
ton." 

"  I  was  afraid  some  one  might  snatch  the  stocking  from 
me.  I  always  meant  to  give  it  up,  as  soon  as  the  law  said 
to  whom  it  belongs.  Davis  wants  it,  but  I'm  not  sure  it  is 
his." 

"  What  key  did  you  use  ?     Keep  nothing  back." 

"  One  of  my  own.  My  keys  unlocked  many  of  Aunt 
Dolly's  drawers.  She  knew  it,  and  never  found  any  fault 
with  it.  Why  should  she  ?  Her  keys  unlocked  mine!  " 

"Another  word — where  is  that  stocking,  and  where  are 
its  contents?" 

"Both  are  safe  in  the  third  drawer  of  my  own  bureau, 
and  here  is  the  key,"  taking  one  from  her  bosom.  "  I  put 
them  there  for  security,  as  no  one  opens  that  drawer  but 
myself." 

Timms  took  the  key  from  the  unresisting  hand  of  the 
woman,  and  followed  by  Williams,  Davis,  and  one  or  two 
more,  he  left  the  court-house.  At  that  instant,  Sarah 
Burton  fainted.  In  the  confusion  of  removing  her  into 
another  room,  Mary  Monson  resumed  her  seat. 

"  Mr.  District  Attorney,  it  can  hardly  be  your  intention 
to  press  this  indictment  any  further  ?"  observed  the  judge, 
wiping  his  eyes,  and  much  delighted  with  the  unexpected 
termination  of  the  affair. 

The  functionary  addressed  was  glad  enough  to  be  rid 
of  his  unwelcome  office,  and  at  once  signified  his  willing- 
ness to  enter  a  nolle  prosequi,  by  an  application  to  the  bench, 
in  the  case  of  the  arson,  and  to  submit  to  an  acquittal  in 
that  now  being  traversed.  After  a  brief  charge  from  the 
judge,  the  jury  gave  a  verdict  of  acquittal,  without  leaving 
the  box  ;  and  just  as  this  was  done,  Timms  and  his  com- 
panions returned,  bringing  with  them  the  much-talked  of 
stocking. 

It  required  months  completely  to  elucidate  the  whole 
affair ;  but  so  much  is  already  known,  and  this  part  of  our 
subject  being  virtually  disposed  of,  we  may  as  well  make 
a  short  summary  of  the  facts,  as  they  were  already  in 
proof,  or  as  they  have  since  come  to  light. 

The  fire  was  accidental,  as  has  been  recently  ascertained 
by  circumstances  it  is  unnecessary  to  relate.  Goodwin  had 
left  his  wife,  the  night  before  the  accident,  and  she  had 
taken  the  German  woman  to  sleep  with  her.  As  the  gar- 
ret floor  above  this  pair  was  consumed,  the  plow  fell,  its 
share  inflicting  the  blow  which  stunned  them,  if  it  did  not 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  369 

inflict  even  a  greater  injury.  That  part  of  the  house  was 
first  consumed,  and  the  skeletons  were  found,  as  has  been 
related,  side  by  side.  In  the  confusion  of  the  scene,  Sarah 
Burton  had  little  difficulty  in  opening  the  drawer,  and  re- 
moving the  stocking.  She  fancied  herself  unseen  ;  but 
Mary  Monson  observed  the  movement,  though  she  had 
then  no  idea  what  was  abstracted.  The  unfortunate  de- 
linquent maintains  that  her  intention,  at  the  time,  was 
good  ;  or.  that  her  sole  object  was  to  secure  the  gold  ;  but 
is  obliged  to  confess  that  the  possession  of  the  treasure 
gradually  excited  her  cupidity,  until  she  began  to  hope 
that  this  hoard  might  eventually  become  her  own.  The 
guilty  soonest  suspect  guilt.  As  to  "  the  pure,  all  things 
are  pure,"  so  it  is  with  the  innocent,  who  are  the  least  in- 
clined to  suspect  others  of  wicked  actions.  Thus  was  it 
with  Mrs.  Burton.  In  the  commission  of  a  great  wrong 
herself,  she  had  little  difficulty  in  supposing  that  Mary 
Monson  was  the  sort  of  person  that  rumor  made  her  out 
to  be.  She  saw  no  great  harm,  then,  in  giving  a  shove  to 
the  descending  culprit.  When  looking  into  the  stocking, 
she  had  seen,  and  put  in  her  own  pocket,  the  notched 
piece,  as  a  curiosity,  there  being  nothing  more  unusual  in 
the  guilty  thus  incurring  unnecessary  risks,  than  there  is 
in  the  moth's  temerity  in  fluttering  around  the  candle. 
When  the  purse  of  Mary  Monson  was  examined,  as  usually 
happens  on  such  occasions,  we  had  almost  said  as  always 
happens,  in  the  management  of  cases  that  are  subsequent- 
ly to  form  a  part  of  the  justice  of  the  land,  much  less  at- 
tention was  paid  to  the  care  of  that  purse  than  ought  to 
have  been  bestowed  on  it  Profiting  by  the  neglect,  Sarah 
Burton  exchanged  the  notched  coin  for  the  perfect  piece, 
unobserved,  as  she  again  fancied  ;  but  once  more  the  watch- 
ful eye  of  Mary  Monson  was  on  her.  The  first  time  the 
woman  was  observed  by  the  last,  it  was  accidentally  ;  but 
suspicion  once  aroused,  it  was  natural  enough  to  keep  a 
lookout  on  the  suspected  party.  The  act  was  seen,  and  at 
the  moment  that  the  accused  thought  happy,  the  circum- 
stance was  brought  to  bear  on  the  trial.  Sarah  Burton 
maintains  that,  at  first,  her  sole  intention  was  to  exchange 
the  imperfect  for  the  perfect  coin  ;  and  that  she  was  in- 
duced to  swear  to  the  piece  subsequently  produced,  as  that 
found  on  Mary  Monson's  person,  as  a  literal  fact,  ignorant 
of  what  might  be  its  consequences.  Though  the  devil 
doubtless  leads  us  on,  step  by  step,  deeper  and  deeper, 
into  crime  and  sin,  it  is  probable  that,  in  this  particular,  the 
24 


370  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

guilty  woman  applied  a  flattering  unction  to  her  conscience, 
that  the  truth  would  have  destroyed. 

Great  was  the  wonder,  and  numberless  were  the  para- 
graphs that  this  unexpected  issue  of  the  "great  Biberry 
murders  "  produced.  As  respects  the  last,  anything  that 
will  fill  a  column  is  a  god-send,  and  the  falsehood  has  even 
a  value  that  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  truth,  as  its  contra- 
diction will  help  along  quite  as  much  as  the  original  state- 
ments. If  the  public  could  only  be  brought  to  see  what  a 
different  thing  publicity  becomes  in  the  hands  of  those  who 
turn  it  to  profit^  from  what  it  is  thought  to  be  by  those  who 
fancy  it  is  merely  a  mode  of  circulating  facts,  a  great  step 
toward  a  much-needed  reformation  would  be  taken,  by  con- 
fining the  last  within  their  natural  limits. 

Mary  Monson's  name  passed  from  one  end  of  the  Union 
to  the  other,  and  thousands  heard  and  read  of  this  extra- 
ordinary woman,  who  never  had  the  smallest  clew  to  her 
real  character  or  subsequent  history.  How  few  reflected 
on  the  defects  of  the  system  that  condemned  her  to  the 
gallows  on  insufficient  testimony  ;  or,  under  another  phase 
of  prejudice,  might  have  acquitted  her  when  guilty  !  The 
random  decisions  of  the  juries,  usually  well-meaning,  but 
so  rarely  discriminating,  or  as  intelligent  as  they  ought  to 
be,  attract  very  little  attention  beyond  the  bar  ;  and  even 
the  members  of  that  often  strike  a  balance  in  error,  with 
which  they  learn  to  be  content ;  gaining  in  one  cause  as 
much  as  they  lose  in  another. 

There  was  a  strong  disposition  in  the  people  assembled 
at  Biberry,  on  the  occasion  of  the  trial,  to  make  a  public 
spectacle  of  Mary  Monson.  The  right  to  do  this,  with  all 
things  in  heaven  and  earth,  seems  to  belong  to  "  repub- 
lican simplicity,"  which  is  beginning  to  rule  the  land  with 
a  rod  of  iron.  Unfortunately  for  this  feeling,  the  subject 
of  momentary  sympathy  was  not  a  person  likely  to  allow 
such  a  license.  She  did  not  believe,  because  she  had  en- 
dured one  set  of  atrocious  wrongs,  that  she  was  bound  to 
submit  to  as  many  more  as  gaping  vulgarity  might  see  fit 
to  inflict.  She  sought  the  protection  of  good  Mrs.  Gott 
and  her  jail,  some  forms  being  necessary  before  the  sen- 
tence of  death  could  be  legally  gotten  rid  of.  In  vain  were 
the  windows  again  crowded,  with  the  virtuous  wish  of  see- 
ing how  Mary  Monson  looked,  now  she  was  acquitted,  just 
as  they  had  been  previously  thronged  in  order  to  ascertain 
how  she  looked  when  there  was  a  chance  of  her  being  con- 
demned to  the  gallows.  The  most  extraordinary  part  of 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  371 

che  affair,  was  the  circumstance  that  the  harp  became  popu- 
lar ;  the  very  sentiment,  act,  or  thing  that,  in  one  condition 
of  the  common  mind,  is  about  to  be  "  cut  down  and  cast 
into  the  fire,"  becoming,  in  another,  all  that  is  noble,  com- 
mendable, or  desirable.  The  crowd  about  the  windows  of 
the  jail,  for  the  first  few  hours  after  the  acquittal,  was 
dying  to  hear  the  prisoner  sing  and  play,  and  would  gladly 
have  tolerated  the  harp  and  a  "  foreign  tongue  "  to  be  thus 
gratified. 

But  Mary  Monson  was  safe  from  all  intrusion,  under  the 
locks  of  the  delighted  Mrs.  Gott.  This  kind-hearted  per- 
son kissed  her  prisoner,  over  and  over  again,  when  she  ad- 
mitted her  within  the  gallery,  and  then  she  went  outside, 
and  assured  several  of  the  more  respectable  persons  in  the 
crowd  how  thoroughly  she  had  been  persuaded,  from  the 
first,  of  the  innocence  of  her  friend.  The  circumstances 
of  this  important  trial  rendered  Mrs.  Gott  a  very  distin- 
guished person  herself,  in  that  crowd,  and  never  was  a 
woman  happier  than  she  while  delivering  her  sentiments 
on  the  recent  events. 

"It's  altogether  the  most  foolish  trial  we  have  ever  had 
in  Dukes,  though  they  tell  me  foolish  trials  are  getting  to 
be  only  too  common,"  said  the  kind-hearted  wife  of  the 
sheriff,  addressing  half  a  dozen  of  the  more  respectable  of 
the  crowd.  "  It  gave  me  a  big  fright,  I  will  own.  When 
Gott  was  elected  sheriff,  I  did  hope  he  would  escape  all 
executions  but  debt  executions.  The  more  he  has  of  them, 
the  better.  It's  bad  enough  to  escort  thieves  to  Sing  Sing  ; 
but  the  gallows  is  a  poor  trade  for  a  decent  man  to  meddle 
with.  Then,  to  have  the  very  first  sentence,  one  against 
Mary  Monson,  who  is  as  much  above  such  a  punishment  as 
virtue  is  above  vice.  When  1  heard  those  dreadful  words, 
I  felt  as  if  a  cord  was  round  my  own  neck.  But  I  had 
faith  to  the  last  ;  Mary  has  always  told  me  that  she  should 
be  acquitted,  and  here  it  has  all  come  true,  at  last." 

"  Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Gott,"  said  one  of  her  friends,  "it 
is  reported  that  this  woman — or  lady,  I  suppose  one  must 
now  call  her — has  been  in  the  habit  of  quitting  the  jail 
whenever  she  saw  fit?" 

"  Hu-s-h,  neighbor  Brookes  ;  there  is  no  need  of  alarm- 
ing the  county  !  I  believe  you  are  right ;  though  it  was 
all  done  without  my  knowledge,  or  it  never  would  have 
been  permitted.  It  only  shows  the  power  of  money.  The 
locks  are  as  good  as  any  in  the  State  ;  yet  Mary  certainly 
did  find  means,  unbeknown  to  me,  to  open  them.  It  can't 


372  THE   WA  YS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

be  called  breaking  jail,  since  she  always  came  back  !  1 
had  a  good  fright  the  first  time  I  heard  of  it,  but  use 
reconciles  us  to  all  things.  I  never  let  Gott  into  the  se- 
cret, though  he's  responsible,  as  he  calls  it,  for  all  his  pris- 
oners." 

"  Well,  when  a  matter  turns  out  happily,  it  does  no  good 
to  be  harping  on  it  always." 

Mrs.  Gott  assented,  and  in  this  case,  as  in  a  hundred 
others,  the  end  was  made  to  justify  the  means.  But  Mary 
Monson  was  felt  to  be  an  exception  to  all  rules,  and  there 
was  no  longer  any  disposition  to  cavil  at  any  of  her  pro- 
ceedings. Her  innocence  had  been  established  so  very  tri- 
umphantly, that  every  person  regarded  her  vagaries  and 
strange  conduct  with  indulgence. 

At  that  very  moment,  when  Mrs.  Gott  was  haranguing 
her  neighbors  at  the  door  of  the  jail,  Dunscomb  was  clos- 
eted with  Michael  Millington  at  the  inn  ;  the  young  man 
having  returned  at  hot-speed  only  as  the  court  adjourned. 
He  had  been  successful,  notwithstanding  his  original  dis- 
appointment, and  had  ascertained  all  about  the  hitherto 
mysterious  prisoner  of  the  Biberry  jail.  Mary  Monson  was, 
as  Dunscomb  suspected,  Mildred  Millington  by  birth — 
Mme.  de  Larocheforte  by  marriage — and  she  was  the  grand- 
daughter of  the  very  woman  to  whom  he  had  been  be- 
trothed in  youth.  Her  insanity  was  not  distinctly  recog- 
nized, perhaps  could  not  have  been  legally  established, 
though  it  was  strongly  suspected  by  many  who  knew  her 
intimately,  and  was  a  source  of  great  uneasiness  with  all 
who  felt  an  interest  in  her  welfare.  Her  marriage  was  un- 
happy, and  it  was  supposed  she  had  taken  up  her  abode  in 
the  cottage  of  the  Goodwins  to  avoid  her  husband.  The 
command  of  money  gave  her  a  power  to  do  very  much  as 
she  pleased,  and,  though  the  breath  of  calumny  had  never 
yet  blown  its  withering  blast  on  her  name,  she  erred  in 
many  things  that  are  duties  as  grave  as  that  of  being 
chaste.  The  laws  came  in  aid  of  her  whims  and  ca- 
prices. There  is  no  mode  by  which  an  errant  wife  can  be 
made  to  perform  her  duties  in  boldly  experimenting  New 
York,  though  she  can  claim  a  support  and  protection  from 
her  husband.  The  "  cup-and-saucer  "  law  comes  in  aid  of 
this  power,  and  the  men  who  cannot  keep  their  wives  in 
the  chains  of  Hymen  in  virtue  of  the  affections,  may  just 
as  well  submit,  with  a  grace,  to  be  the  victims  of  an  ill- 
judging  and  most  treacherous  regard  for  the  rights  of  what 
are  called  the  weaker  sex. 


THE   WAYS    OF   THE   HOUR.  373 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

Why  wilt  thou  add  to  all  the  griefs  I  suffer, 
Imaginary  ills,  and  fancied  tortures? — Cato. 

THE  scene  must  now  be  shifted  to  Rattletrap.  Biberry 
was  deserted.  Even  the  rumors  with  which  its  streets  had 
been  so  lately  filled,  were  already  forgotten.  None  have 
memories  as  frail  as  the  gossip.  Not  only  does  this  class 
of  persons — and  a  numerous  class  it  is,  including  nearly 
all  whose  minds  are  not  fitted  to  receive  more  elevated  ma- 
terials— not  only,  we  say,  does  this  class  of  persons  over- 
look the  contradictions  and  absurdities  of  the  stories  they 
repeat,  but  they  forget  the  stories  themselves  almost  as 
soon  as  heard.  Such  was  now  the  case  at  Biberry.  Scarce 
an  individual  could  be  found  in  the  place  who  would  ac- 
knowledge that  he  or  she  had  ever  heard  that  Mary  Mon- 
son  was  connected  with  robbers,  or  who  could  recollect 
that  he  once  fancied  the  accused  guilty. 

We  may  as  well  say  here,  that  nothing  has  ever  been 
done  with  Sarah  Burton.  She  is  clearly  guilty  ;  but  the 
law,  in  these  times  of  progress,  disdains  to  pursue  the 
guilty.  Their  crimes  are  known  ;  and  of  what  use  can  it 
be  to  expose  those  whom  every  one  can  see  are  offenders  ? 
No,  it  is  the  innocent  who  have  most  reason  to  dread  the 
law.  They  can  be  put  to  trouble,  cost,  vexation  and  loss, 
if  they  can  not  be  exactly  condemned.  We  see  how  thou- 
sands regard  the  law  in  a  recent  movement  in  the  legisla- 
ture, by  which  suits  have  been  ordered  to  try  the  titles  of 
most  of  the  large  landed  proprietors,  with  the  very  honest 
and  modest  proposal  annexed,  that  their  cases  shall  be  pre- 
judged, and  the  landlords  deprived  of  the  means  of  defend- 
ing themselves,  by  sequestering  their  rents  !  Everybody 
says  this  is  the  freest  country  on  earth  ;  the  only  country 
that  is  truly  free  ;  but  we  must  be  permitted  to  say,  that 
such  a  law,  like  twenty  more  that  have  been  passed  in  the 
same  interest  within  the  last  ten  years,  savors  a  good  deal 
of  the  character  of  a  ukase. 

Our  characters,  with  the  exception  of  3V'  : Brain  and  his 
bride,  were  now  assembled  at  Rattletrap.  Dunscomb  had 
ascertained  all  it  was  necessary  to  know  concerning  Mil- 
dred, and  had  taken  the  steps  necessary  to  protect  her.  Of 
her  qualified  insanity  he  did  not  entertain  a  doubt ;  though 


374  THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

it  was  a  madness  so  concealed  by  the  blandishments  of 
education  and  the  graces  of  a  refined  woman,  that  few  saw 
it,  and  fewer  still  wished  to  believe  it  true.  On  most  sub- 
jects this  unhappy  lady  was  clear-minded  and  intelligent 
enough,  more  especially  on  that  of  money  ;  for,  while  her 
expenditures  were  generous,  and  her  largesses  most  liberal, 
she  manifested  wonderful  sagacity  in  taking  care  of  her 
property.  It  was  this  circumstance  that  rendered  it  so 
difficult  to  take  any  steps  to  deprive  her  of  its  control  ; 
though  Dunscomb  had  seen  enough,  in  the  course  of  the 
recent  trial,  to  satisfy  him  that  such  a  measure  ought  to  be 
resorted  to  in  the  interest  of  her  own  character. 

It  was  in  cunning,  and  in  all  the  low  propensities  con- 
nected with  that  miserable  quality,  that  Mildred  Milling- 
ton,  as  she  now  insisted  on  calling  herself,  most  betrayed 
her  infirmity.  Many  instances  of  it  have  been  incidentally 
related  in  the  course  of  our  narrative,  however  unpleasant 
such  an  exhibition  has  been.  There  is  nothing  more  re- 
pugnant to  the  principles  or  tastes  of  the  right  thinking 
and  right  feeling,  than  the  practices  which  cunning  en- 
genders. Timms,  however,  was  a  most  willing  agent  in  all 
the  schemes  of  his  client ;  though  some  of  her  projects  had 
puzzled  him  by  their  elaborate  duplicity,  as  much  as  they 
had  astounded  him  by  their  boldness. 

These  were  the  schemes  that  had  their  origin  in  obli- 
quity of  mind.  Still  they  were  not  without  merit  in  the 
eyes  of  Timms,  who  was  cunning  without  being  mad. 

Before  quitting  Biberry,  Timms  was  liberally  paid  and 
dismissed.  Dunscomb  explained  to  him  the  situation  of 
his  handsome  client,  without  adverting  to  the  state  of  her 
mind,  when  the  attorney  at  once  caught  at  the  chances  of 
a  divorce.  Among  the  other  "ways  of  the  hour,"  that  of 
dissolving  the  marriage  tie  has  got  to  be  a  sort  of  fashion- 
able mania.  Neither  time,  nor  duties,  nor  children,  seem 
to  interpose  any  material  obstacle  ;  and,  if  our  own  laws 
do  not  afford  the  required  facilities,  those  of  some  of  our 
more  liberal  neighbors  do.  Timms  keeps  this  principle  in 
his  mind,  and  is  at  this  moment  ruminating  on  the  means 
by  which  he  can  liberate  his  late  client  from  her  present 
chains,  and  bind  her  anew  in  some  of  his  own  forging.  It 
is  scarcely  necessary  to  add,  that  Mildred  troubles  herself 
very  little  in  the  premises,  so  far  as  this  covert  lover  is 
concerned. 

The  ridicule  of  Williams  was  at  first  the  sorest  portion 
of  Timms's  disappointment.  Bachelors  alike,  and  rivals 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  375 

for  popular  favor,  these  two  worthies  had  long  been  look- 
ing  out  for  advantageous  marriages.  Each  had  the  sagacity 
to  see  that  his  chances  of  making  a  more  and  more  eligi- 
ble connection  were  increasing  slowly,  and  that  it  was  a 
great  thing  for  a  rising  man  to  ascend  without  dragging 
after  him  a  wife  chosen  from  among  those  that  prop  the 
base  of  the  great  social  ladder.  It  was  nuts  to  one  of  these 
competitors  for  the  smiles  of  the  ladies  to  discover  that 
his  rival  was  in  love  with  a  married  woman  ;  and  this  so 
much  the  more,  because  the  prospects  of  Timms's  success 
arising  from  his  seeming  intimacy  with  the  fair  occupant 
of  the  jail,  had  given  Williams  a  very  serious  fright 
Place  two  men  in  competition,  no  matter  in  what,  and  all 
their  energies  become  concentrated  in  rivalry.  Again  and 
again  had  these  two  individuals  betrayed  their  mutual 
jealousy  ;  and  now  that  one  of  them  had  placed  himself 
in  a  position  so  false,  not  to  say  ridiculous,  the  other  did 
not  fail  to  enjoy  his  disappointment  to  the  top  of  his  bent. 
It  was  in  this  manner  that  Saucy  Williams  took  his  re- 
venge for  the  defeat  in  the  trial. 

Mrs.  Gott  was  also  at  Rattletrap.  Dunscomb  retained 
much  of  his  original  tenderness  for  Mildred,  the  grand- 
mother of  his  guest  of  that  name,  and  he  granted  her  de- 
scendant every  indulgence  she  could  ask.  Among  other 
things,  one  of  the  requests  of  the  liberated  prisoner  was 
to  be  permitted  to  manifest  this  sense  of  her  gratitude  for 
the  many  acts  of  kindness  received  from  the  wife  of  the 
sheriff.  Gott,  accordingly,  was  left  to  take  care  of  him- 
self, while  his  nice  little  companion  was  transported  to  a 
scene  that  she  found  altogether  novel,  of  a  temporary  resi- 
dence in  a  gentleman's  dwelling.  Sarah's  housekeeping, 
Sarah's  good  natiye,  attentions,  neatness,  attire  and  attrac- 
tions, would  have  been  themes  to  monopolize  all  of  the 
good  little  woman's  admiration,  had  not  Anna  Updyke, 
then  on  a  visit  at  Rattletrap,  quite  fairly  come  in  for  her 
full  share.  She  might  almost  be  said  to  be  in  love  with 
both. 

It  was  just  after  breakfast  that  Mildred  locked  an  arm 
in  that  of  Anna,  and  led  her  young  friend  by  one  of  the 
wooded  paths  that  run  along  the  shores  of  the  Hudson, 
terminating  in  a  summer-house,  with  a  most  glorious 
view.  In  this  there  was  nothing  remarkable ;  the  eye 
rarely  resting  on  any  of  the  "  bits  "  that  adorn  the  banks 
of  that  noble  stream,  without  taking  in  beauties  to  en- 
chant it.  But  to  all  these  our  two  lovely  young  women 


.fj6  THE   U'AYS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

were  momentarily  as  insensible  as  they  were  tp  the  fact 
that  their  own  charming  forms,  floating  among  shrubbery 
as  fragrant  as  themselves,  added  in  no  slight  degree  to  the 
beauty  of  the  scene.  In  manner,  Mildred  was  earnest,  if 
not  ardent,  and  a  little  excited  ;  on  the  other  hand,  Anna 
was  placid,  though  sensitive,  changing  color  without  ceas- 
ing, as  her  thoughts  were  drawn  nearer  and  nearer  to  that 
theme  which  now  included  the  great  object  of  her  exist 
ence. 

"  Your  uncle  brought  me  letters  from  town  last  evening, 
Anna,  dear,"  commenced  the  liberated  lady  ;  "  one  of  them 
is  from  Monsieur  de  Larocheforte.  Is  that  not  strange?" 

"  What  is  there  so  strange  in  a  husband  writing  to  a 
wife  ?  To  me  it  seems  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world." 

"  It  does  ?  I  am  surprised  to  hear  you  say  so — you, 
Anna,  whom  I  regarded  as  so  truly  my  friend.  I  have 
discarded  Monsieur  de  Larocheforte,  and  he  ought  to  re- 
spect my  pleasure." 

"  It  would  have  been  better,  my  dear  mamma,  had  you 
discarded  him  before  marriage,  instead  of  after." 

"Ah — your  dear  mamma,  indeed!  I  was  your  school- 
mamma,  Anna,  and  well  had  it  been  for  me  had  I  been  left 
to  finish  my  education  in  my  own  country.  Then  I  should 
have  escaped  this  most  unfortunate  marriage  !  Do  not 
marry,  Anna — take  my  advice  and  never  marry.  Matri- 
mony is  unsuited  to  ladies." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  of  this  opinion,  dear  mam- 
ma?" asked  the  young  girl,  smiling. 

"Just  as  long  as  I  have  been  made  to  feel  how  it 
crushes  a  woman's  independence,  and  how  completely  it 
gives  her  a  master,  and  how  very,  very^  humiliating  and 
depressing  is  the  bondage  it  inflicts.  Do  you  not  feel  the 
force  of  my  reasons  ?" 

"  I  confess  I  do  not,"  answered  Anna,  in  a  subdued,  yet 
clear  and  distinct  voice.  "  I  see  nothing  humiliating  or 
depressing  in  a  woman's  submission  to  her  husband.  It  is 
the  law  of  nature,  and  why  should  we  wish  to  alter  it  ? 
My  mother  has  ever  inculcated  such  opinions,  and  you 
will  excuse  me  if  I  say  I  think  the  Bible^does,  also." 

"The  Bible!  Yes,  that  is  a  good  book,  though  I  am 
afraid  it  is  very  little  read  in  France.  I  ought,  perhaps, 
to  say,  '  read  very  little  by  strangers  resident  in  France.' 
The  Frenchwomen  themselves  are  not  one-half  as  negli- 
gent of  their  duties,  in  this  respect,  as  are  the  strangers 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  377 

who  go  to  reside  among  them.  When  the  roots,  that  have 
grown  to  any  size  in  their  native  soil,  are  violently  trans- 
planted to  another,  it  is  not  often  that  the  tree  obtains  its 
proper  dimensions  and  grace.  I  wish  I  had  never  seen 
France,  Anna,  in  which  case  I  should  never  have  been 
Madame  de  Larocheforte — vicomtesse,  by  the  old  law,  and  I 
am  afraid  it  was  that  idle  appellation  that  entrapped  me. 
How  much  more  truly  respectable  I  should  have  been  as 
Mrs.  John  Smith,  or  Mrs.  John  Brown,  or  Mrs.  David 
Smith,  the  wife  of  a  countryman,  if  I  must  be  a  wife  at 
all!" 

"  Choose  at  least  some  name  of  higher  pretension/'  said 
Anna,  laughing.  "  Why  not  a  Mrs.  Van  Rensselaer,  or  a 
Mrs.  Van  Cortlandt,  or  a  Mrs.  Livingston,  or  a  Mrs.  Some- 
body else,  of  one  of  our  good  old  families  ?  " 

"  Families !  Do  you  know,  child,  it  is  treason  to  talk  of 
families  in  this  age  of  anti-rentism.  They  tell  me  that  the 
man  who  makes  an  estate,  may  enjoy  it,  should  he  happen 
to  know  how,  and  this,  though  he  may  have  cheated  all  he 
ever  dealt  with,  in  order  to  become  rich  ;  but,  that  he  who 
inherits  an  estate  has  no  claim.  It  is  his  tenants  who  have 
the  high  moral  claim  to  his  father's  property." 

"  I  know  nothing  of  all  this,  and  would  rather  talk  of 
things  I  understand." 

"  By  which  you  mean  wedlock,  and  its  cares  !  No,  my 
dear,  you  little  understand  what  matrimony  is,  or  how 
much  humiliation  is  required  of  us  women  to  become 
wives,  or  you  would  never  think  of  marrying." 

"I  have  never  told  you  that  I  do  think  of  marrying — 
that  is,  not  much." 

"  There  spoke  your  honest  nature,  which  will  not  permit 
even  an  unintended  deception.  This  it  was  that  so  much 
attached  me  to  you  as  a  child  ;  for,  though  I  am  not  very 
ingenuous  myself,  I  can  admire  the  quality  in  another." 

"  This  admission  does  not  exactly  prove  the  truth  of 
your  words,  mamma  !  "  said  Anna,  smiling. 

"  No  matter — let  us  talk  of  matrimony.  Has  John  Wil- 
meter  proposed  to  you,  Anna?" 

This  was  a  home  question  ;  no  wonder  the  young  lady 
started.  After  a  short,  musing  pause,  however,  the  native 
candor  of  Anna  Updyke  prevailed,  and  she  admitted  that 
he  had. 

11  Tbank  you  for  this  confidence  ;  but  you  must  go  fur- 
ther. Remember,  I  am  your  mamma.  Is  the  gentleman 
accepted?" 


378  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

A  rosy  blush,  succeeded  by  a  nod  of  the  head,  was  the 
answer. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  was  not  consulted  before  all  this  hap- 
pened ;  though  I  have  managed  my  own  matters  so  ill,  as 
to  have  very  few  claims  to  your  confidence.  You  scarce 
know  what  you  undertake,  my  child." 

"  I  undertake  to  become  Jack  Wilmeter's  wife,"  an- 
swered the  betrothed,  in  a  very  low  but  a  very  firm  voice  ; 
"  and  I  hope  I  shall  make  him  a  good  one.  Most  of  all, 
do  I  pray  to  be  obedient  and  submissive." 

u  To  no  man  that  breathes,  Anna  ! — no,  to  no  man  breath- 
ing !  It  is  their  business  to  submit  to  us;  not  we  to  them  !  " 

"This  is  not  my  reading  of  the  great  rule  of  woman's 
conduct.  In  my  view  of  our  duties,  it  is  the  part  of  woman 
to  be  affectionate,  mild,  patient,  and  sympathizing — if  nec- 
essary, forgiving.  I  firmly  believe  that,  in  the  end,  such  a 
woman  cannot  fail  to  be  as  happy  as  is  permitted  to  us  to 
be,  here  on  earth." 

"  Forgiving  !  "  repeated  Mildred,  her  eyes  flashing,  "yes, 
that  is  a  word  often  used,  yet  how  few  truly  practise  its 
teachings  ?  Why  should  I  forgive  any  one  that  has 
wronged  me  ?  Our  nature  tells  us  to  resent,  to  punish,  if 
necessary,  as  you  say — to  revenge." 

A  slight  shudder  passed  through  the  frame  of  Anna,  and 
she  unconsciously  moved  further  from  her  companion, 
though  their  arms  still  continued  locked. 

"  There  must  be  a  great  difference  between  France  and 
America,  if  revenge  is  ever  taught  to  a  woman,  as  a  part 
of  her  duty,"  returned  the  younger  female,  now  speaking 
with  an  earnestness  she  had  not  before  betrayed  ;  "  here, 
we  are  told  that  Christianity  forbids  the  very  thought  of 
it,  and  that  to  forgive  is  among  the  very  first  of  our  duties. 
My  great  instructor  in  such  things  has  told  me  that  one  of 
the  surest  evidences  of  a  hopeful  state  of  the  feelings  is  the 
banishment  of  everything  like  resentment,  and  a  desire  to 
be  at  peace  with  all  around  us — to  have  a  perception  that 
we  love  the  race  as  beings  of  our  wants  and  hopes." 

"  Is  this  the  sort  of  love,  then,  with  which  you  give  your 
hand  to  young  Wilmeter  ?  " 

Scarlet  is  not  brighter  than  was  the1  color  that  now 
glowed  in  the  cheeks  of  Anna,  stole  into  her  temples,  and 
even  diffused  itself  over  her  neck  and  chest.  To  herself  it 
seemed  as  if  her  very  hands  blushed.  Then  the  power  of 
innocence  came  to  sustain  her,  and  she  became  calm  and 
steady. 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  379 

"It  is  nottlie  feeling  with  which  I  shall  marry  John,"  she 
said.  "  Nature  has  given  us  another  sentiment,  and  I  shall 
not  endeavor  to  be  superior  to  all  of  my  sex  and  class.  I 
love  John  Wilmeter,  I  own  ;  and  I  hope  to  make  him 
happy." 

"  To  be  a  dutiful,  obedient  wife,  forever  studying  his 
tastes  and  caprices  !  " 

"  I  trust  I  shall  not  be  forever  studying  the  indulgence 
of  my  own.  I  see  nothing  degrading  to  a  woman,  in  her 
filling  the  place  nature  and  Christianity  have  assigned  to 
her,  and  in  her  doing  her  duty  as  a  wife." 

"  These  are  not  my  feelings,  receiving  your  terms  as  you 
wish  them  to  be  understood.  But  several  have  told  me  I 
ought  never  to  have  married  ;  I  myself  know  that  I  should 
have  been  an  American,  and  not  a  French  wife." 

"  I  have  ever  heard  that  greater  latitude  is  given  to  our 
sex,  in  France,  than  in  this  country." 

"That  is  true  in  part  only.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  re- 
tenue  of  a  French  girl,  or  anything  that  is  decent  exceed 
the  want  of  it  that  is  manifested  by  many  Americans.  On 
the  other  hand,  a  married  woman  here  has  no  privileges  at 
all,  not  even  in  society ;  while  in  France,  under  an  air  of 

treat  seeming  propriety,  she  does  very  much  as  she  sees 
t.  It  is  a  mistake,  however,  to  suppose  that  faithful  wives, 
and  devoted  mothers,  most  especially  the  last,  are  not  to  be 
found  all  over  Europe — in  France,  in  particular." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  cried  Anna,  with  a  really  gratified 
air  ;  "  it  gives  me  pleasure  when  I  hear  of  any  of  our  sex 
behaving  as  they  should  behave." 

"  Should  behave  !  I  fear,  Anna,  a  little  covert  reproach 
is  intended,  in  that  remark.  Our  estimate  of  the  conduct 
of  our  friends  must  depend  on  our  notions  of  our  own 
duties.  Now,  hearken  to  my  manner  of  reasoning  on  this 
subject.  In  a  physical  sense,  man  is  strong,  woman  is 
weak  ;  while,  in  a  moral  sense,  woman  is  strong  and  man 
is  weak.  You  admit  my  premises  ?  " 

"  The  first  part  of  them,  certainly,"  said  Anna,  laughing, 
"while  I  pretend  to  no  knowledge  of  the  last." 

"  You  surely  do  not  believe  that  John  Wilmeter  is  as 
pure,  ingenuous,  good,  as  you  are  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  see  no  reason  why  he  should  not  be.  I  am  far  from 
certain  Jack  is  not  even  better." 

"  It  is  useless  to  discuss  such  a  subject  with  you.  The 
principle  of  pride  is  wanting,  without  which  you  can  never 
enter  into  my  feelings." 


380  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

"  I  am  glad  it  is  so.  I  fancy  John  will  be  all  the  hap- 
pier for  it.  Ah  !  rny  dear  mamma,  I  never  knew  any  good 
come  of  what  you  call  this  '  principle  of  pride.'  We  are 
told  to  be  humble  and  not  to  be  proud.  It  may  be  all  the 
better  for  us  females  that  rulers  are  given  to  us  here,  in 
the  persons  of  our  husbands." 

"  Anna  Updyke,  do  you  marry  John  Wilmeter  with  the 
feeling  that  he  is  to  rule  ?  You  overlook  the  signs  of  the 
times,  the  ways  of  the  hour,  child,  if  you  do  aught  so  weak  ! 
Look  around  you,  and  see  how  everybody,  almost  every- 
thing, is  becoming  independent,  our  sex  included.  For- 
merly, as  I  have  heard  elderly  persons  say,  if  a  woman 
suffered  in  her  domestic  relations,  she  was  compelled  to 
suffer  all.  The  quarrel  lasted  for  a  life.  Now,  no  one 
thinks  of  being  so  unreasonably  wretched.  No,  the  wronged 
wife,  or  even  the  offended  wife — Monsieur  de  Laroche- 
forte  snuffs  abominably — abominably — yes,  abominably — 
but  no  wife  is  obliged,  in  these  times  of  independence  and 
reason,  to  endure  a  snuffy  husband — 

"No,"  broke  in  Dunscomb,  appearing  from  an  adjoining 
path,  "she  has  only  to  pack  up  her  spoons  and  be  off. 
The  Code  can  never  catch  her.  If  it  could  on  one  page, 
my  life  for  it  there  is  a  hole  for  her  to  get  out  of  its  grasp 
on  the  next.  Your  servant,  ladies  ;  I  have  been  obliged  to 
overhear  more  of  your  conversation  than  was  intended  for 
my  ears,  perhaps  ;  these  paths  running  so  close  to  each 
other,  and  you  being  so  animated  — and  now,  I  mean  to 
take  an  old  man's  privilege,  and  speak  my  mind.  In  the 
first  place,  I  shall  deal  with  the  agreeable.  Anna,  my  love, 
Jack  is  a  lucky  fellow-— far  luckier  than  he  deserves  to  be. 
You  carry  the  right  sentiment  into  wedlock.  It  is  the  right 
of  the  husband  to  be  the  head  of  his  family  ;  and  the  wife 
who  resists  his  authority  is  neither  prudent  nor  a  Christian. 
He  may  abuse  it,  it  is  true  ;  but,  even  then,  so  long  as 
criminality  is  escaped,  it  were  better  to  submit.  I  approve 
of  every  word  you  have  uttered,  dear,  and  thank  you  for  it 
all  in  my  nephew's  name.  And  now,  Mildred,  as  one  who 
has  a  right  to  advise  you,  by  his  avowed  love  for  your 
grandmother,  and  recent  close  connection  with  yourself, 
let  me  tell  you  what  I  think  of  those  principles  that  you 
avow,  and  also  of  the  state  of  things  that  is  so  fast  growing 
up  in  this  country.  In  the  first  place,  he  is  no  true  friend 
of  your  sex  who  teaches  it  this  doctrine  of  independence. 
I  should  think — it  is  true,  I  am  only  a  bachelor,  and  have 
no  experience  to  back  me — but,  I  should  think  that  a 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  381 

woman  who  truly  loves  her  husband,  would  find  a  delight 
in  her  dependence— 

"  Oh  !  certainly  !  "  exclaimed  Anna — biting  her  tongue 
at  the  next  instant,  and  blushing  scarlet  at  her  own  temer- 
ity. 

"  I  understand  you,  child,  and  approve  again — but  there 
comes  Jack,  and  I  shall  have  to  turn  you  over  to  him,  that 
you  may  receive  a  good  scolding  from  headquarters,  for 
this  abject  servitude  feeling  that  you  have  betrayed.  Go 
— go — his  arm  is  held  out  already — and  harkee,  young 
folk,  remember  that  a  new  maxim  in  morals  has  come  in 
with  the  Code — '  Principles  depend  on  Circumstances.' 
That  is  the  rule  of  conduct  nowadays — that,  and  anti-rent- 
ism,  and  '  republican  simplicity,'  and  the  *  cup-and-saucer 
law,'  and — and — yes — and  the  ever-blessed  Code  !  " 

Dunscomb  was  obliged  to  stop  for  breath,  which  gave 
the  young  couple  an  opportunity  to  walk  away.  As  for 
Mildred,  she  stood  collected,  extremely  ladylike  in  mien, 
but  with  a  slight  degree  of  hauteur  expressed  in  her  coun- 
tenance. 

**  And  now,  sir,  that  we  are  alone,"  she  said,  "  permit  me 
to  inquire  what  my  part  of  the  lecture  is  to  be.  I  trust 
you  will  remember,  however,  that,  while  I  am  Mildred 
Millington  by  birth,  the  law  which  you  so  much  reverence 
and  admire,  makes  me  Madame  de  Larocheforte." 

"  You  mean  to  say  that  I  have  the  honor  of  conversing 
with  a  married  woman  ?  " 

"  Exactly  so,  Mr.  Dunscomb." 

"  I  comprehend  you,  ma'am,  and  shall  respect  your  po- 
sition. You  are  not  about  to  become  my  niece,  and  I  can 
claim  no  right  to  exceed  the  bounds  of  friendship 

"  Nay,  my  dear  sir,  I  do  not  wish  to  say  this.  You  have 
every  right  to  advise.  To  me  you  have  been  a  steady  and 
well-judging  friend,  and  this  in  the  most  trying  circum- 
stances. I  am  ready  to  hear  you,  sir,  in  deference,  if  not 
in  your  beloved  humility." 

"  That  which  I  have  to  say  refers  solely  to  your  own  hap- 
piness, Mildred.  Your  return  to  America  has,  I  fear,  been 
most  inopportune.  Among  other  innovations  that  are 
making  on  every  side  of  us,  even  to  the  verge  of  dissolu- 
tion of  civilized  society,  comes  the  liberty  of  women. 
Need  I  tell  you  what  will  be  the  next  step  in  this  dow^ 
ward  career?" 

"  You  needs  must,  Mr.  Dunscomb — I  do  not  compre- 
hend you.  What  will  that  step  be  ?" 


382  THE   WAVS   OF   THE   HOCK. 

"  Her  licentiousness.  No  woman  can  throw  off  the  most 
sacred  of  all  her  earthly  duties,  in  this  reckless  manner, 
and  hope  to  escape  from  the  doom  of  her  sex.  After 
making  a  proper  allowance  for  the  increase  of  population, 
the  increase  in  separated  married  people  is  getting  to  be 
out  of  all  proportion.  Scarce  a  month  passes  that  one 
does  not  hear  of  some  wife  who  has  left  her  husband,  se- 
creted herself  with  a  child,  perhaps,  as  you  did,  in  some 
farm  house,  passing  by  a  different  name,  and  struggling 
for  her  rights,  as  she  imagines.  Trust  me,  Mildred,  all  this 
is  as  much  opposed  to  nature  as  it  is  to  prescribed  duties. 
That  young  woman  spoke  merely  what  an  inward  impulse, 
that  is  incorporated  with  her  very  being,  prompted  her  to 
utter.  A  most  excellent  mother — oh  !  what  a  blessing  is 
that  to  one  of  your  sex — how  necessary,  how  heavenly, 
how  holy  ! — an  excellent  mother  has  left  her  in  ignorance 
of  no  one  duty,  and  her  character  has  been  formed  in  what 
I  shall  term  harmony  with  her  sex.  I  must  be  plain,  Mil- 
dred— you  have  not  enjoyed  this  advantage.  Deprived  of 
your  parent  young,  known  to  be  rich,  and  transplanted  to 
another  soil,  your  education  has  necessarily  been  intrusted 
to  hirelings,  flatterers,  or  persons  indifferent  to  your  real 
well-being  ;  those  who  have  consulted  most  the  reputation 
of  their  instruction,  and  have  paid  the  most  attention  to 
those  arts  which  soonest  strike  the  eye,  and  most  readily  at- 
tract admiration.  In  this  their  success  has  been  complete." 

"While  you  think  it  has  not  been  so  much  so,  sir,  in 
more  material  things  ? "  said  the  lady,  haughtily. 

"  Let  me  be  "Sincere.  It  is  due  to  my  relation  to  you — 
to  your  grandmother — to  the  past — to  the  present  time.  I 
know  the  blood  that  runs  in  your  veins,  Mildred.  You  are 
self-willed  by  descent,  rich  by  inheritance,  independent  by 
the  folly  of  our  legislators.  Accident  has  brought  you 
home,  at  the  very  moment  when  our  ill-considered  laws  are 
unhinging  society  in  many  of  its  most  sacred  interests  ; 
and,  consulting  only  an  innate  propensity,  you  have  vent- 
ured to  separate  from  your  husband,  to  conceal  yourself 
in  a  cottage,  a  measure,  I  dare  say,  that  comported  well 
with  your  love  of  the  romantic " 

"  Not  so — I  was  oppressed,  annoyed,  unhappy  at  home, 
and  sought  refuge  in  that  cottage.  Monsieur  de  Laroche- 
forte  has  such  a  passion  for  snuff  !  He  uses  it  night  and 
day." 

"  Then  followed  the  serious  consequences  which  involved 
you  in  so  many  fearful  dangers " 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR.  383 

"  True,"  interrupted  the  lady,  laying  her  small,  gloved 
hand  hastily  on  his  arm — "very  true,  dear  Mr.  Dunscomb  ; 
but  how  cleverly  I  contrived  to  escape  them  all  ! — how 
well  I  managed  your  Mr.  Timms,  good  Mrs.  Gott,  the 
puffy,  pompous  sheriff,  that  wily  Williams  too,  whose  palm 
felt  the  influence  of  my  gold — oh  !  the  excitement  of  the 
last  two  months  has  been  a  gift  of  paradise  to  me,  and,  for 
the  first  time  since  my  marriage,  have  I  known  what  true 
happiness  was !  " 

Dunscomb  turned,  astonished,  to  his  companion,  and 
stared  her  in  the  face.  Never  was  the  countenance  more 
lovely  to  the  cursory  glance,  the  eye  brighter,  the  cheek 
with  a  richer  glow  on  it,  or  the  whole  air,  mien  and  atti- 
tude more  replete  with  womanly  loveliness,  and  womanly 
graces  ;  but  the  observant  eye  of  the  lawyer  penetrated 
beyond  all  these,  and  detected  the  unhappy  spirit  which 
had  gained  possession  of  a  tenement  so  lovely.  The  ex- 
pression of  the  countenance  denoted  the  very  triumph  of 
cunning.  We  pretend  not  to  a  knowledge  of  the  arcana  of 
nature,  to  be  able  to  detect  the  manner  in  which  the  mov- 
ing principles  prompt  to  good  or  evil,  but  we  must  reject 
all  sacred  history,  and  no  small  portion  of  profane,  not  to 
believe  that  agencies  exist  that  are  not  visible  to  our  ordi- 
nary senses  ;  and  that  our  boasted  reason,  when  abandoned 
to  its  own  support,  becomes  the  victim  of  those  that  are 
malign.  We  care  not  by  what  names  these  agents  are 
called,  imps,  demons,  evil  spirits,  or  evil  passions  ;  but  this 
we  do  know,  let  him  beware  who  submits  to  their  control. 
Better,  far  better,  were  it  that  such  an  one  had  never  been 
born! 

Three  days  later  Mildred  Millington  was  in  a  state  that 
left  no  doubt  of  her  infirmity.  The  lucid  intervals  were 
long,  however,  and  at  such  times  her  mind  seemed  clear 
enough  on  all  subjects  but  one.  Divorce  was  her  "  ruling 
passion,"  and,  in  order  to  effect  her  purpose,  all  the  ex- 
traordinary ingenuity  of  a  most  fertile  mind  was  put  in 
requisition.  Although  means  were  promptly,  but  cau- 
tiously, taken  to  see  that  she  did  not  squander  her  large 
pecunian-  resources,  Dunscomb  early  saw  that  they  were 
uncalled  for.  Few  persons  were  better  qualified  to  look 
after  their  money  than  was  this  unfortunate  lady,  in  the 
midst  of  the  dire  visitation  that  intellectually  reduced  her 
below  the  level  of  most  around  her.  On  this  head  her 
sagacity  was  of  proof  ;  though  her  hand  was  not  closed  with 
the  gripe  of  a  miser.  Accustomed,  from  childhood,  to  a 


384  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

liberal  expenditure,  she  was  willing  still  to  use  the  means 
that  an  inscrutable  Providence  had  so  liberally  placed  in 
ner  way,  her  largesses  and  her  charities  continuing  the 
same  as  ever.  Down  to  the  present  moment  the  fund- 
holder,  the  owner  of  town  property,  the  mortgagee,  and 
the  trader  is  allowed  to  enjoy  his  own,  without  any  direct 
interference  of  the  demagogue  with  his  rights  ;  but  how 
much  longer  this  exception  is  to  last  is  known  only  to  the 
Being  who  directs  the  destinies  of  nations  ;  or,  at  least, 
not  to  any  who  are  now  on  earth,  surrounded  equally  by 
the  infirmities  and  ignorance  of  the  present  state. 

But  Mildred  was,  and  is  yet,  permitted  to  exercise  her 
rights  over  her  own  property,  though  care  is  had  to  see 
that  no  undue  advantage  is  taken  of  her  sex,  years,  and 
ignorance.  Beyond  this  her  control  was  not  disputed,  and 
she  was  suffered  to  manage  her  own  affairs.  She  set 
about  the  matter  of  a  divorce  with  the  whole  energy  of 
her  nature,  and  the  cunning  of  her  malady.  Timms  was 
again  summoned  to  her  service,  unknown  to  Dunscomb, 
who  would  never  have  winked  at  the  measures  that  were 
taken,  though  so  much  in  accordance  with  "the  ways  of 
the  hour." 

Provided  with  proper  credentials,  this  managing  agent 
sought  an  interview  with  M.  de  Larocheforte,  a  worn-out 
debauchee  of  some  rank,  who,  sooth  to  say,  had  faults  even 
graver  than  that  of  taking  snuff.  Notwithstanding  the 
great  personal  attractions  of  Mildred,  the  motive  for  marry- 
ing her  had  been  money,  as  is  usually  the  case  in  a  very 
great  proportion  of  the  connections  of  the  old  world, 
among  persons  of  condition.  Love  is  to  succeed,  and  not 
to  precede,  matrimony.  Mildred  had  been  taught  that 
lesson,  and  grievously  had  she  been  disappointed.  The 
snuff  got  into  her  eyes.  M.  de  Larocheforte — M.  le 
Vicomte  as  he  had  been,  and  was  still  determined  to  be, 
and  in  all  probability  will  be,  in  spite  of  all  the  French 
44  republican  simplicity  "  that  was  ever  summoned  to  a 
nation's  rescue — M.  le  Vicomte  was  directly  approached 
by  Timms,  and  a  proposal  made  that  he  should  put  him- 
self in  a  condition  to  be  divorced,  for  a  stipulated  price. 
Notwithstanding  the  opinion  of  the  learned  attorney- 
general  of  this  great  State,  of  the  European  aristocracy, 
and  who  is  so  every  way  qualified  to  give  such  an  opinion, 
ex-officio  as  it  might  be,  M.  de  Larocheforte  declined  lend- 
ing himself  to  so  vile  a  proposition,  Frenchman  and  noble 
as  he  was.  Nor  did  the  husband  believe  that  the  discredit- 


THE    WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  365 

able  proposal  came  from  his  wife.  He  compelled  Timms 
to  admit  as  much,  under  a  menace  of  losing  his  case.  That 
worthy  was  puzzled  at  this  result,  for  he  had  made  the 
proposal  on  his  "own  hook,"  as  he  afterward  explained 
the  matter  to  Williams,  in  the  fullest  confidence  of  "  re- 
publican simplicity,"  and  was  astonished  at  meeting  with 
the  self-respect  of  a  gentleman,  if  with  no  very  elevated 
principles  in  a  nobleman  !  It  was  accordingly  necessary 
to  have  recourse  to  some  other  mode  of  proceeding. 

Luckily  for  the  views  of  Timms  and  his  fair  client,  one 
can  scarcely  go  amiss  in  this  country,  when  a  divorce  is 
desired.  Although  a  few  of  the  older  States  remain  rea- 
sonably inflexible  on  this  subject,  \\\  some  respects  unrea- 
sonably so,  indeed,  they  are  generally  surrounded  by  com- 
munities that  are  more  indulgent.  By  means  of  some 
hocus pocus  of  the  law,  that  we  pretend  not  to  explain,  the 
names  of  Gabriel  Jules  Vincent  Jean  Baptiste  de  Laroche- 
forte  ads.  Mildred  de  Larocheforte  were  just  beginning  to 
steal  on  the  dawn  of  the  newspapers,  in  a  case  that,  ere 
long,  might  blaze  in  the  meridian  of  gossip. 

Dunscomb  frowned,  and  reproached,  but  it  was  too  late 
to  recede.  He  has  told  Mildred,  and  he  has  told  Timms, 
that  nuptial  knots  tied  in  one  community,  cannot  be  so 
readily  unloosed  in  another,  as  many  imagine  ;  and  that 
there  must,  at  least,  be  good  faith — the  animus  revertendi — 
in  the  change  of  residence  that  usually  precedes  the  appli- 
cation. But  money  is  very  powerful,  and  smooths  a  thou- 
sand difficulties.  No  one  could  predict  the  termination  ; 
and,  as  the  vicomte,  though  only  to  be  approached  in  a 
more  delicate  way  than  that  adopted  by  Timms,  was  as 
tired  of  the  connection  as  his  wife,  and  was  very  anxious 
to  obtain  a  larger  share  of  the  fortune  than  the  "cup  and 
saucer"  law  will  give  him,  it  was  by  no  means  improbable 
that  the  end  of  the  affair  would  be  a  quasi-divorce,  that 
would  at  least  enable  each  party  to  take  his  or  her  own 
course,  without  fear  of  molestation  from  the  other. 

In  the  meantime,  Millington  was  married  very  shortly 
after  the  trial.  The  engagement  had  not  been  long,  but 
the  parties  had  known  each  other  intimately  for  years. 
The  bridegroom,  in  one  sense,  was  the  head  of  his  family, 
though  by  no  means  possessed  of  its  largest  fortune.  In 
this  character,  it  devolved  on  him  to  care  for  the  interests 
of  his  fair  relative.  Although  as  much  opposed  as  Duns- 
comb  to  the  course  she  was  taking,  he  did  not  shrink  from 
his  duties  as  a  relative  ;  and  it  is  understood  that  his  house 


350  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

is  Mildred's  home  when  in  town.  Rattletrap  opened  its 
hospitable  doors  to  the  unfortunate  woman,  whenever  she 
chose  to  visit  the  place  ;  and  Timbully  has  also  claims  on 
her  time  and  presence. 

Dunscomb  announced  his  intention  to  retire  from  prac- 
tice at  the  end  of  a  twelvemonth,  the  morning  that  Michael 
and  Sarah  were  married.  In  the  intervening  time,  John 
Wilmeter  and  his  new  nephew  were  received  as  partners, 
and  the  worthy  bachelor  is  now  sedulously  but  silently 
transferring  as  respectable  and  profitable  a  list  of  clients  as 
any  man  in  the  courts  can  claim.  His  own  advice  is  prom- 
ised, at  all  times,  to  his  old  friends  ;  and,  as  not  a  soul  has 
objected,  and  the  young  men  bid  fair,  there  is  every  reason 
to  hope  that  useful  and  profitable  labor  will  keep  both  out 
of  mischief. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Some  curate  has  penn'd  this  invective, 
And  you  have  studied  it. — MASSINGER. 

THE  day  set  apart  for  the  nuptials  of  John  Wilmeter  and 
Anna  Updyke  finally  arrived.  The  ceremony  was  to  take 
place  in  a  little  church  that  had  stood,  time  out  of  mind, 
in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  Timbully.  This  church 
was  colonial  in  its  origin,  and,  while  so  much  around  it 
had  undergone  vital  changes,  there  stands  that  little  temple, 
reared  in  honor  of  God,  in  its  simplicity,  unpretending 
yet  solid  and  durable  architecture,  resembling,  in  all  these 
particulars,  the  faith  it  was  erected  to  sustain.  Among  the 
other  ways  of  the  hour  that  are  worthy  of  our  notice,  the 
Church  itself  has  sustained  many  rude  shocks  of  late — 
shocks  from  within  as  wrell  as  from  without.  The  Father 
of  Lies  has  been  roving  through  its  flocks  with  renewed 
malice,  damaging  the  shepherds,  perhaps,  quite  as  much 
as  the  sheep,  and  doing  things  hitherto  unheard  of  in  the 
brief  annals  of  American  Ecclesiastical  History.  Although 
we  deeply  regret  this  state  of  things,  we  feel  no  alarm. 
The  hand  which  first  reared  this  moral  fabric  will  be  cer- 
tain to  protect  it  as  far  as  that  protection  shall  be  for  its 
good.  It  has  already  effected  a  great  reform.  The  trum- 
pet is  no  longer  blown  in  Zion  in  our  own  honor  ;  to  boast 
of  the  effects  of  a  particular  discipline  ;  to  announce  the 
consequences  of  order,  and  of  the  orders ;  or,  in  short,  to 
proclaim  a  superiority  that  belongs  only  to  the  Head  ol 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  387 

all  the  Churches,  letthem  be  further  from,  or  nearer  to,  what 
are  considered  distinctive  principles.  What  the  Church  is 
now  enduring  the  country  itself  most  sadly  wants — a  lesson 
in  humility  ;  a  distrust  of  self,  a  greater  dependence  on 
that  wisdom  which  comes,  not  from  the  voices  of  the 
people,  not  from  the  ballot-boxes,  not  from  the  halls  of 
senates,  from  heroes,  god-likes,  or  stereotyped  opinions, 
but  from  above,  the  throne  of  the  Most  High. 

In  one  of  those  little  temples  reared  by  our  fathers  in 
the  days  of  the  monarchy,  when,  in  truth,  greater  repub- 
lican simplicity  really  reigned  among  us,  in  a  thousand 
things,  than  reigns  to-day,  the  bridal  party  from  Timbully 
was  assembled  at  an  early  hour  of  the  morning.  The  com- 
pany was  not  large,  though  it  necessarily  included  most  of 
the  nearest  relatives  of  the  bride  and  groom.  Dunscomb 
was  there,  as  were  Millington  and  his  wife  ;  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
McBrain,  of  course,  and  two  or  three  other  relations  on  the 
side  of  the  bride's  father,  besides  Mildred.  It  was  to  be  a 
private  wedding,  a  thing  that  ie  fast  getting  to  be  for- 
gotten. Extravagance  and  parade  have  taken  such  deep 
root  among  us  that  young  people  scarce  consider  them- 
selves legally  united  unless  there  are  six  bridesmaids,  one, 
in  particular,  to  "  pull  off  the  glove  ; "  as  many  attendants 
of  the  other  sex,  and  some  three  or  four  hundred  friends 
in  the  evening,  to  bow  and  courtesy  before  the  young 
couple,  utter  a  few  words  of  nonsense,  and  go  their  way  to 
bow  and  courtesy  somewhere  else. 

There  was  nothing  of  this  at  Timbully,  on  that  wedding 
day.  Dunscomb  and  his  nephew  drove  over  from  Rattle- 
trap, early  in  the  morning,  even  while  the  dew  was  glitter- 
ing on  the  meadows,  and  Millington  and  his  wife  met  them 
at  a  cross-road,  less  than  a  mile  from  McBrain's  country- 
house.  The  place  of  rendezvous  was  at  the  church  itself, 
and  thither  the  several  vehicles  directed  their  way.  Duns- 
comb  was  just  in  time  to  hand  Mildred  from  her  very  com- 
plete travelling-carriage,  of  which  the  horses  were  in  a 
foam,  having  been  driven  hard  all  the  way  from  town. 
Last  of  all,  appeared  Stephen  Hoof,  driving  the  very  re- 
spectable-looking rockaway  of  Mrs.  McBrain — we  were  on 
the  point  of  writing  "  his  master,"  but  there  are  no  longer 
any  "  masters  "  in  New  York.  Stephen,  himself,  who  had 
not  a  spark  of  pride,  except  in  his  horses,  and  who  was 
really  much  attached  to  the  person  he  served,  always  spoke 
of  the  doctor  as  his  "boss."  Jack  Wilmeter,  somewhat  of 
a  wag,  had  perplexed  the  honest  coachman,  on  a  certain 


388  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

occasion,  by  telling  him  that  "  boss  "  was  the  Latin  foi 
"ox,"  and  that  it  was  beneath  his  dignity  to  be  using  Pill 
and  Pole-us  (Bolus)  to  drag  about  "oxen."  But  Stephen 
recovered  from  this  shock  in  due  time,  and  has  gone  on 
ever  since  calling  his  master  "  boss."  We  suppose  this 
touch  of  "  republican  simplicity  "  will  maintain  its  ground 
along  with  the  other  sacred  principles  that  certain  persons 
hold  on  to  so  tightly  that  they  suffer  others,  of  real  im- 
portance, to  slip  through  their  fingers. 

Stephen  was  proud  of  his  office  that  day.  He  liked  his 
new  mistress — there  arc  no  bossesses — and  he  particularly 
liked  Miss  Anna.  His  horses  were  used  a  good  deal  more 
than  formerly,  it  is  true  ;  but  this  he  rather  liked  too,  hav- 
ing lived  under  the  regimes  of  the  two  first  Mrs.  McBrain. 
He  was  doubly  satisfied  because  his  team  came  in  fresh, 
without  having  a  hair  turned,  while  that  of  Madame^  as  all 
the  domestics  now  called  Mildred,  were  white  with  foam. 
Stephen  took  no  account  of  the  difference  in  the  distance, 
as  he  conceived  that  a  careful  coachman  would  have  had 
his  "boss  "  up  early  enough  to  get  over  the  ground  in  due 
season,  without  all  this  haste.  Little  did  he  understand 
the  bossess  that  his  brother-whip  had  to  humor.  She  paid 
high,  and  had  things  her  own  way. 

Anna  thought  Stephen  had  never  driven  so  fast  as  he 
did  that  morning.  The  doctor  handed  her  from  the  car- 
riage, leading  her  and  his  wife  directly  up  to  the  altar. 
Here  the  party  was  met  by  John  and  his  uncle,  the  latter 
of  whom  facetiously  styled  himself  the  "groomsman."  It 
is  a  ceremony  much  more  easily  done  than  undone — great 
as  the  facilities  for  the  last  are  getting  to  be.  In  about 
five  minutes,  John  Wilmeter  and  Anna  Updyke  were  pro- 
nounced to  be  "one  flesh."  In  five  minutes  more,  Jack 
had  his  sweet,  smiling,  happy,  tearful  bride,  in  his  own 
light  vehicle,  and  was  trotting  away  toward  a  pretty  little 
place  in  Westchester,  that  he  owns,  and  which  was  all 
ready  to  receive  the  young  couple.  The  ponies  seemed  to 
understand  their  duty,  and  soon  carried  the  bride  and 
bridegroom  out  of  sight. 

"  Them's  awful  trotters,  them  nags  of  Mr.  Jack  Wilming- 
ton's," said  Stephen,  as  the  double  phaeton  whirled  away 
from  the  church  door,  "and  if  Miss  Anny  doesn't  disap- 
prove on  'em,  afore  long,  I'm  no  judge  of  a  team.  I'm 
glad,  however,  the  young  gentleman  has  married  into  our 
family,  for  he  does  like  a  hoss,  and  the  gentleman  that 
likes  a  hoss  commonly  likes  his  vife." 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  389 

Kis  remark  was  overheard  by  Dunscomb,  though  intend' 
ed  only  for  the  ears  of  the  counsellor's  coachman.  It 
drew  an  answer,  as  might  have  been  foreseen. 

"I  am  glad  you  approve  of  the  connection,  Stephen," 
said  the  counsellor  in  his  good-natured  way.  "  It  is  a  great 
satisfaction  to  know  that  my  nephew  goes  among  friends." 

"  Fri'nds,  sir  !  Admirers  is  a  better  tarm.  I'm  a  down- 
right admirer  of  Mr.  Jack,  he's  sich  tastes  ;  always  with 
his  dog,  or  his  gun,  or  his  hoss,  in  the  country  ;  and  I 
dares  to  say,  with  his  books  in  town." 

"  Not  just  all  that,  Stephen  ;  I  wish  it  were  so  ;  but 
truth  compels  me  to  own  that  the  young  rogue  thinks 
quite  as  much  of  balls,  and  suppers,  and  tailors,  and  the 
opera,  as  he  does  of  Coke  upon  Lyttleton,  or  Blackstone 
and  Kent." 

"  Veil,  that's  wrong,"  answered  Stephen,  "and  I'll  up- 
hold no  man  in  vot's  wrong,  so  long  as  I  can  do  better.  I 
know'd  both  them  racers,  having  heard  tell  on  'em  at  the 
time  they  vos  run,  and  I've  heard  good  judges  say,  that 
timed  the  hosses,  that  Kent  come  in  neck  and  neck,  if  jus- 
tice had  been  done.  Mr.  Jack  will  rectify,  and  come  to 
see  the  truth  afore  long — mattermony  will  do  that  much 
for  him.  It's  a  great  help  to  the  seekers  arter  truth,  is 
mattermony,  sir ! " 

"  That  is  the  reason  you  have  so  much  of  it  at  Timbully, 
I  suppose,"  returned  Dunscomb,  nodding  familiarly  toward 
his  friend  the  doctor,  who  had  heard  all  that  was  said. 
"  If  matrimony  rectifies  in  this  way  you  must  be  three 
times  right  at  home,  Stephen." 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  coachman,  nodding  his  head  in 
reply  ;  "  and  when  a  body  does  better  and  better,  as  often 
as  he  tries,  there's  no  great  harm  in  trying.  Mr.  Jack  vill 
come  round,  in  time." 

"  I  dare  say  he  will,  Stephen,  when  he  has  sown  all  his 
wild  oats  ;  though  the  dog  pretends  to  like  the  Code,  and 
what  is  more,  has  the  impudence  to  say  he  understands  it." 

u  Yes,  sir,  all  wrong,  I  dares  to  say.  But  Miss  Anna 
will  set  him  right,  as  a  righter  young  lady  never  sat  on  the 
back  seat  of  a  coach.  I  vish,  now  ve're  on  the  subject, 
Squire  Dunscomb,  to  hear  your  ra'al  opinion  about  them 
vild  oats  ;  vether  they  be  a  true  thing,  or  merely  a  fancy 
consarning  some  vegetable  that  looks  like  the  true  feed. 
I've  often  heard  of  sich  things,  but  never  seed  any." 

"Nor  will  you,  Stephen,  until  the  doctor  turns  short 
round,  and  renews  his  youth.  Then,  indeed,  you  may  see 


390  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

some  of  the  grain  growing  beneath  your  feet.  It  is  doc- 
tor's food." 

"  Meshy,  and  good  for  the  grinders  of  old  hosses,  I  dares 
to  say." 

"Something  of  the  sort.  It's  the  harvest  that  age  reaps 
from  the  broadcast  of  youth.  But  we  are  keeping  Mrs. 
McBrain  waiting.  Stephen  will  take  one  less  back  with 
him  than  he  brought,  my  dear  lady." 

"  I  trust  not.  Mr.  McBrain  has  given  me  reason  to  hope 
for  the  pleasure  of  your  company.  Your  nephew  has  car- 
ried off  my  daughter  ;  the  least  you  can  do  is  to  come  and 
console  me." 

"  What  is  then  to  become  of  that  dear,  but  unfortunate 
young  lady  ?"  glancing  toward  Mildred. 

"  She  goes  with  her  relatives,  the  Millingtons.  Next 
week  we  are  all  to  meet  at  Rattletrap,  you  know." 

The  next  week  the  meeting  took  place,  as  appointed. 

"Here  I  am,"  cried  Dunscomb,  "truly  and  finally  a 
bachelor,  again.  Now  for  the  reign  of  misrule,  negligence, 
and  bad  housekeeping.  Sarah  has  left  me  ;  and  John  has 
left  me  ;  and  Rattletrap  will  soon  become  the  chosen  seat 
of  discomfort  and  cynicism." 

"  Never  the  last,  I  should  think,"  answered  Mme.  de 
Larocheforte,  gayly,  "  as  long  as  you  are  its  master.  But 
why  should  you  dwell  alone  here,  in  your  declining  years 
— why  may  I  not  come  and  be  your  housekeeper  ?" 

"  The  offer  is  tempting,  coming,  as  it  does,  from  one 
who  cannot  keep  house  for  herself.  But  you  think  of  re- 
turning  to  Europe,  I  believe  ?" 

"  Never — or  not  so  long  as  my  own  country  is  so  indul- 
gent to  us  women  !  " 

"  Why,  yes — you  are  right  enough  in  that,  Mildred. 
This  is  woman's  paradise,  in  a  certain  sense,  truly  ;  though 
much  less  attention  is  paid  to  their  weaknesses  and  wants, 
by  the  affluent,  than  in  other  lands.  In  every  Christian 
country  but  this,  I  believe,  a  wife  may  be  compelled  to  do 
her  duty.  Here  she  is  free  as  the  air  she  breathes,  so  long 
as  she  has  a  care  not  to  offend  in  one  essential.  No,  you 
are  right  to  remain  at  home,  in  your  circumstances  ;  that 
is  to  say,  if  you  still  insist  on  your  mistaken  independence  ; 
a  condition  in  which  nature  never  intended  your  sex  to 
exist." 

"  And  yourself,  sir !  Did  not  nature  as  much  intend 
that  you  should  marry  as  another  ?  " 

"  It  did,"  answered  Dunscomb,  solemnly ;  "  and  I  would 


THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  30 1 

have  discharged  the  obligation,  had  it  been  in  my  power. 
You  well  know  why  I  have  never  been  a  husband — the 
happy  parent  of  a  happy  family." 

Mildred's  eyes  swam  with  tears.  She  had  heard  the  his- 
tory of  her  grandmother's  caprice,  and  had  justly  appre- 
ciated the  wrongs  of  Dunscomb.  This  it  was  not  difficult 
for  her  to  do,  in  the  case  of  third  parties,  even  while  so 
obtuse  on  the  subject  of  her  own  duties.  She  took  the 
hand  of  her  companion,  by  a  stealthy  and  unexpected 
movement,  and  raised  it  still  more  unexpectedly  to  her 
lips.  Dunscomb  started  ;  turned  his  quick  glance  on  her 
face,  where  he  read  all  her  contrition  and  regrets.  It  was 
by  these  sudden  exhibitions  of  right  feeling  and  correct 
judgment,  that  Mme.  de  Larocheforte  was  able  to  main- 
tain her  position.  The  proofs  of  insanity  were  so  limited 
in  the  range  of  its  influence,  occurred  so  rarely,  now  she 
was  surrounded  by  those  who  really  took  an  interest  in 
her,  and  this  not  for  the  sake  of  her  money,  but  for  her  own 
sake,  that  her  feelings  had  become  softened,  and  she  no 
longer  Regarded  men  and  women  as  being  placed  near  her 
to  prey  on  her  means,  and  to  persecute  her.  By  thus  giv- 
ing her  affections  scope  her  mind  was  gradually  getting  to 
be  easier,  and  her  physical  existence  improved.  McBrain 
was  of  opinion  that,  writh  care,  and  with  due  attention  to 
avoid  excitement  and  distasteful  subjects,  her  reason  might 
again  be  seated  on  its  throne,  and  bring  all  the  faculties  of 
her  mind  in  subjection  to  it. 

At  length  the  time  for  the  visit  of  the  young  people 
arrived.  Anxious  to  see  happy  faces  assembled  around 
him,  Dunscomb  had  got  Mildred,  the  McBrains,  and  the 
Millingtons,  at  Rattletrap,  to  do  honor  to  the  bride  and 
groom.  Good  Mrs.  Gott  had  not  been  overlooked,  and  by 
an  accident  Timms  drove  in  at  the  gate  just  as  the  whole 
party,  including  Jack  and  his  blooming  wife,  wrere  sitting 
down  to  a  late  breakfast.  The  counsellor  welcomed  his 
rnan-of-all-work,  for  habit  renders  us  less  fastidious  in  our 
associations  than  most  of  us  imagine. 

Timms  was  very  complimentary  to  both  of  the  young 
couples,  and  in  a  slight  degree  witty,  agreeably  to  his  own 
mode  of  regarding  the  offspring  of  that  effort  of  the  imag- 
ination. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Williams's  getting  married, 
Squire  Dunscomb  ? "  the  attorney  asked.  "  There's  a  man 
for  matrimony  !  He  regards  women  and  niggers  as  inferior 
beings." 


392  THE  WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR. 

"  Pray,  how  do  you  regard  them,  Timms  ?  The  women 
only,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Oh  !  dear,  no,  squire  ;  as  far  as  possible  from  that !  1 
reverence  the  ladies,  without  whom  our  state  in  this  life 
would  be 

"  Single — I  suppose  you  wish  to  say.  Yes,  that  is  a  very 
sensible  remark  of  yours — without  women  we  should  cer- 
tainly all  get  to  be  old  bachelors  in  time.  But,  Timms,  it 
is  proper  that  I  should  be  frank  with  you.  Mildred  de 
Larocheforte  may  manage  to  get  a  divorce,  by  means  of 
some  of  the  quirks  of  the  law  ;  but  were  she  to  be  proclaimed 
single,  by  sound  of  trumpet,  she  would  never  marry  you" 

"  You  are  sharp  on  me  this  morning,  sir ;  no  one  but  the 
lady  herself  can  say  that." 

"  There  you  are  mistaken.  I  know  it,  and  am  ready  to 
give  my  reasons  for  what  I  say." 

"  I  should  be  pleased  to  hear  them,  sir — always  respect 
your  reasoning  powers,  though  I  think  no  man  can  say 
who  a  lady  will  or  will  not  marry." 

"  In  the  first  place,  she  does  not  like  you.  Thfit  is  one 
sufficient  reason,  Timms — 

"  Her  dislike  may  be  overcome,  sir." 

"  Her  tastes  are  very  refined.  She  dislikes  her  present 
husband  principally  because  he  takes  snuff." 

"  I  should  have  thought  she  might  have  discovered  her 
feelings  on  that  subject  before  she  went  so  far." 

"  Not  as  they  manage  matters  in  Europe.  There,  the 
suitor  is  not  permitted  to  kiss  his  intended,  as  so  often 
happens  among  ourselves,  I  fancy  ;  and  she  had  no  oppor- 
tunity of  ascertaining  how  unpleasant  snuff  is.  You  chew 
and  smoke,  and  she  will  endure  neither." 

"  I'll  forswear  both,  rather  than  not  be  agreeable  to  dear 
Mary  Monson." 

11  Ah,  my  poor  Timms,  I  see  you  are  deeper  in  this  affair 
than  I  had  supposed.     But  I  shall  turn  you  over  to  Mrs. 
Gott,  who  has  promised  to  have  an  explanation  with  you 
and  who,  I  believe,  will  speak  by  authority." 

Timms  was  not  a  little  surprised  to  see  his  old  master 
very  unceremoniously  leave  him,  and  the  sheriff's  wife 
occupy  his  place. 

"  Squire  Timms,"  the  latter  commenced,  without  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation,  "  we  live  in  a  very  strange  world,  it 
must  be  admitted.  Gott  says  as  much  as  this,  and  Gott  is 
commonly  right.  He  always  maintained  he  never  should 
be  called  on  to  hang  Mary  Monson." 


THE   WAYS   OF  THE  HOUR.  393 

"  Mr.  Gott  is  a  very  prudent  man,  but  he  would  do  well 
to  take  more  care  of  his  keys." 

"  I  have  not  been  able  to  find  out  how  that  was  done  ! 
Mary  laughs  when  I  ask  her,  and  says  it  was  witchcraft ; 
I  sometimes  think  it  must  have  been  something  of  the 
sort." 

"  It  was  money,  Mrs.  Gott,  which  kept  Goodwin  con- 
cealed to  the  last  moment,  and  brought  about  half  of  all 
that  happened." 

"  You  knew  that  Peter  Goodwin  was  alive,  and  hid  up 
at  Mrs.  Horton's?" 

"  I  was  as  much  surprised,  when  he  entered  the  court, 
as  any  one  there.  My  client  managed  it  all  for  herself. 
She,  and  her  gold." 

"  Well,  you  have  the  credit  of  it,  Timms,  let  me  tell  you, 
and  many  in  the  county  think  it  was  very  well  done.  I 
am  your  friend,  and  ever  have  been.  You  stood  by  Gott 
like  a  man,  at  his  election,  and  I  honor  you  for  it.  So  I 
am  about  to  give  you  a  great  proof  of  my  friendship. 
Give  up  all  thoughts  of  Mary  Monson  ;  she'll  never  have 
you." 

"  What  reasons  have  you  for  saying  this  ?  " 

"  In  the  first  place  she  is  married  already." 

"  She  may  get  a  divorce.  Besides,  her  present  husband 
is  not  a  citizen.  If  I  go  to  the  senate,  I  intend  to  intro- 
duce a  bill  to  prevent  any  but  citizens  getting  married. 
If  foreigners  want  wives,  let  them  be  naturalized  !  " 

"You  talk  like  a  simpleton!  Another  reason  why  you 
should  not  think  of  Mary  Monson  is  that  you  are  unsuited 
to  be  her  husband  ? " 

"  In  what  particular,  I  beg  leave  to  ask  ?" 

"  Oh  !  in  several.  You  are  both  too  sharp,  and  would 
quarrel  about  your  wit,  in  the  very  first  month,"  returned 
Mrs.  Gott,  laughing.  "Take  my  advice,  Timms,  and  cast 
your  eyes  on  some  Dukes  County  young  woman,  who  has 
a  natur'  more  like  your  own." 

Timms  growled  out  a  dissent  to  this  very  rational  prop- 
osition, but  the  discussion  was  carried  on  for  some  time 
longer.  The  woman  made  an  impression  at  last,  and  when 
the  attorney  left  the  house  it  was  with  greatly  lessened 
hopes  for  the  future,  and  with  greatly  lessened  zeal  on  the 
subject  of  the  divorce. 

It  was  singular,  perhaps,  that  Mrs.  Gott  had  not  detected 
the  great  secret  of  Mary  Monson's  insanity.  So  many  per- 
sons are  going  up  and  down  the  country,  who  are  mad  on 


394  THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 

particular  subjects,  and  sane  on  most  others,  that  it  is  not 
surprising  the  intelligence  and  blandishments  of  a  woman 
like  Mildred  should  throw  dust  into  the  eyes  of  one  as 
simple-minded  as  Mrs.  Gott.  With  the  world  at  large,  in- 
deed, the  equivoque  wras  kept  up,  and  while  many  thought 
the  lady  very  queer,  only  a  few  suspected  the  truth.  It 
may  be  fortunate  for  most  of  us  that  writs  of  lunacy  are 
not  taken  out  against  us ;  few  men  or  women,  being  under 
the  control  of  a  good,  healthful  reason  at  all  times,  and 
on  all  subjects. 

In  one  particular,  Mme.  de  Larocheforte  was  singularly 
situated.  She  was  surrounded,  in  her  ordinary  associa- 
tions, with  newly  married  persons,  who  were  each  and  all 
strenuously  resolved  to  regard  the  relation  in  the  most 
favorable  point  of  view.  Perhaps  there  is  nothing  on  earth 
that  so  nearly  resembles  the  pure  happiness  of  the  blessed, 
as  the  felicity  that  succeeds  the  entire  union  of  two  hearts 
that  are  wrapped  up  in  each  other.  Such  persons  live 
principally  for  themselves,  regarding  the  world  at  large 
as  little  more  than  their  abiding-place.  The  affinity  of 
feelings,  the  community  of  thought,  the  steadily  increas- 
ing confidence  which,  in  the  end,  almost  incorporates  the 
moral  existence  of  two  into  one,  are  so  many  new  and 
precious  ties,  that  it  is  not  wonderful  the  novices  believe 
they  are  transplanted  to  a  new  and  ethereal  state  of  being. 
Such  was,  in  a  measure,  the  condition  of  those  with  whom 
Mildred  was  now  called  on  to  associate  most  intimately. 
It  is  true,  that  the  state  of  the  doctor  and  his  wife  might 
be  characterized  as  only  happy,  while  those  of  the  young 
people  amounted  to  absolute  felicity.  Mildred  had  ex- 
perienced none  of  the  last,  and  very  little  of  the  first,  on 
the  occasion  of  her  own  marriage,  which  had  been  entered 
into  more  as  a  contract  of  reason  than  a  union  of  love. 
She  saw  how  much  she  had  missed,  and  profound  was  the 
grief  it  occasioned  her. 

"  You  seem  very  happy,"  she  remarked  one  day  to  Anna, 
as  they  were  again  treading  the  pretty  little  wood  at  Rat- 
tletrap— "  more  than  that — delighted  would  be  a  better 
word." 

"Jack  is  very  kind  to  me,  and  the  only  complaint  I  have 
to  make  of  him  is,  that  he  is  more  fond  of  me  than  I  de- 
serve. I  tell  him  I  tremble  lest  our  happiness  may  not 
last!" 

"  Enjoy  it  while  you  may.  It  is  so  rare  to  find  married 
persons  who  are  so  completely  devoted  to  each  other,  that 


THE  WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  395 

it  is  a  pleasant  sight  to  look  upon.  I  never  knew  any  of 
this,  Anna." 

"  I  regret  to  hear  it,  dear  mamma — it  must  be  that  you 
began  wrong.  There  should  be  a  strong  attachment  be- 
fore the  nuptial  benediction  is  pronounced;  then,  with 
good  hearts,  and  good  principles,  I  should  think  almost 
any  woman  might  be  content  with  her  fate." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  returned  Mildred,  with  a  profound  sigh  ; 
"  I  suppose  it  must  be  so.  We  are  created  by  God,  to  ful- 
fil these  kind  offices  to  each  other,  and  to  love  our  hus- 
bands ;  and  there  must  be  something  very  wrong  when 
different  results  follow.  For  myself,  I  ought  never  to 
have  married  at  all.  My  spirit  is  too  independent  for 
matrimony." 

Anna  was  silent  ;  for,  possibly,  she  might  have  read 
"headstrong"  for  "independent."  The  most  truly  inde- 
pendent thinkers  are  those  who  are  willing  to  regard  all 
sides  of  a  subject,  and  are  not  particularly  wedded  to  one. 
Mildred  was  acute  enough  to  see  that  the  beautiful  young 
bride  did  not  exactly  like  the  allusion  she  had  made  to 
her  new  character. 

"  You  do  not  agree  with  me  ? "  she  demanded  quickly, 
bending  forward  to  look  into  her  companion's  eyes. 

"  How  can  I,  mamma  Mildred  !  As  I  think  no  one, 
man  or  woman,  should  have  a  spirit  that  disqualifies  her 
for  the  duties  imposed  by  nature,  which  is  merely  the 
law  of  our  great  Creator,  how  can  I  agree  to  your  notion 
of  so  much  independence.  We  are  not  intended  for  all 
this  independence,  but  have  been  placed  here  to  do 
honor  to  God,  and  to  try  to  render  each  other  happy.  I 
wish — but  I  am  too  bold,  for  one  so  young  and  inexperi- 
enced." 

"  Speak  freely,  dear.  I  listen  with  pleasure — not  to  say 
with  curiosity." 

"  I  am  afraid,  dear  mamma,  that  the  great  guide  of  human 
conduct  is  not  as  much  studied  in  France,  as  it  should  be. 
That  teaches  us  the  great  lesson  of  humility.  Without  hu- 
mility we  are  nothing — cannot  be  Christians — cannot  love 
our  neighbors  as  ourselves — cannot  even  love  God,  as  it  is 
our  duty,  as  we  ought  to  do." 

"  This  is  very  strange,  Anna,  coming  from  one  of  your 
age  !  Is  it  common  for  American  girls  to  reason  and  feel  in 
this  way  ? " 

"  Perhaps  not,  though  I  hope  more  so  than  is  commonly 
supposed.  You  will  remember  what  a  mother  it  is  mv 


$96  THE    1 1' A  YS    OF   THE   HOUR. 

good  fortune  to  possess.  But,  since  you  really  wish  me  to 
be  frank  with  you,  let  me  finish  what  I  have  to  say.  I  sup- 
pose you  know,  Mildred,  how  much  more  you  have  to  con- 
tend with  than  most  of  your  sex  ? " 

"  Monsieur  de  Larocheforte,  you  mean  ?  " 

"Not  at  all,"  returned  Mrs.  John  Wilmeter,  slightly 
smiling.  "  I  put  all  thought  of  contention  with  a  hus- 
band out  of  the  question.  You  know  I  have  not  been 
married  long  enough  for  that,  and  I  could  almost  hope 
that  the  first  day  of  such  a  scene  might  be  the  last  of 
my  life  !  John  would  cease  to  love  me,  if  I  quarrelled 
with  him." 

"  You  will  be  an  extraordinary  pair,  my  dear,  if 
scenes,  as  you  call  them,  do  not  occasionally  occur  be- 
tween you." 

"  I  do  not  expect  faultlessness  in  Jack  ;  and,  as  for  my- 
self, I  know  that  I  have  very  many  motes  to  get  rid  of,  and 
which  I  trust  may,  in  a  measure,  be  done.  But  let  us  re- 
turn to  the- case  of  a  woman,  young,  well-educated,  hand- 
some, rich  to  superfluity,  and  intellectual." 

"  All  of  which  are  very  good  things,  my  child,"  ob- 
served Mme.  de  Larocheforte,  with  a  smile  so  covert  as  to 
be  scarcely  seen,  though  it  betrayed  to  her  companion  the 
consciousness  of  her  making  the  application  intended — 
"what  next?" 

"Wilful,  a  lover  of  power,  and  what  she  called  inde- 
pendent." 

"  Good  and  bad  together.  The  two  first,  very  bad,  I  ac- 
knowledge ;  the  last,  very  good." 

"What  do  you  understand  by  independence  ?  If  it  mean 
a  certain  disposition  to  examine  and  decide  for  ourselves, 
under  all  the  obligations  of  duty,  then  it  is  a  good  thing,  a 
very  good  thing,  as  you  say ;  but  if  it  merely  mean  a  dis- 
position to  do  as  one  pleases,  to  say  what  one  likes,  and  to 
behave  as  one  may  at  the  moment  fancy,  then  it  strikes  me 
as  a  very  bad  thing.  This  independence,  half  the  time,  is 
only  pride  and  obstinacy,  dear  mamma  ! " 

"Well,  what  if  it  is  ?  Men  are  proud  and  obstinate,  too  ; 
and  they  must  be  fought  with  their  own  weapons." 

"  It  is  easy  to  make  smart  speeches,  but,  by  the  difficul- 
ties I  meet  with  in  endeavoring  to  conquer  my  own  heart, 
I  know  it  is  very  hard  to  do  right.  I  know  I  am  a  very 
young  monitress — 

"  Never  mind  that.  Your  youth  gives  piquancy  to  your 
instructions.  I  like  to  hear  you." 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR.  397 

"  Well.  I  will  finish  what  I  had  to  say.  I  have  ever  found 
that  the  best  assistant,  or  it  might  be  more  reverent  to  say, 
the  best  mode  of  subduing  error,  was  to  comport  ourselves 
with  humility-.  Ah  !  my  dear  mamma,  if  you  could  under- 
stand how  very  strong  the  humble  get  to  be  in  time,  you 
would  throw  aside  your  cherished  independence,  and  rely 
on  other  means  to  secure  your  happiness  ! ' 

Perhaps  Mildred  was  as  much  struck  with  the  cir- 
cumstances under  which  this  rebuke  or  admonition  was 
given  as  with  the  advice  itself.  It  had  an  effect,  however, 
and  Dunscomb  coming  in  aid  of  his  niece,  this  singular 
woman  was  gradually  drawn  from  the  exaggerated  no- 
tions she  had  ever  entertained  of  herself  and  her  rights  to 
the  contemplation  of  her  duties,  as  they  are  exercised  in 
humility. 

If  there  were  no  other  evidence  of  the  divine  origin 
of  the  rules  of  conduct  taught  by  the  Redeemer  than 
the  profound  knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  that  is  so 
closely  connected  with  the  great  lessons  in  humility  every- 
where given  in  his  teachings,  we  conceive  it  would  be  suf- 
ficient in  itself  to  establish  their  claim  to  our  reverence. 
If  men  could  be  made  to  feel  how  strong  they  become  in 
admitting  their  weaknesses  ;  how  clearly  they  perceive 
truth,  when  conscious  of  gazing  at  its  form  amid  the  fogs 
of  error  ;  and  how  wise  we  may  become  by  the  conscious- 
ness of  ignorance,  more  than  half  of  the  great  battle  in 
morals  would  be  gained. 

Humility  was,  indeed,  a  hard  lesson  for  Mildred  Milling- 
ton  to  study.  Her  whole  life  had  been  in  direct  opposi- 
-tion  to  its  precepts,  and  the  great  failing  of  her  mind  had 
a  strong  leaning  to  a  love  of  power.  Nevertheless,  there 
is  a  still,  searching  process  of  correcting,  so  interwoven 
with  the  law  of  the  New  Testament,  as  to  be  irresistible 
when  brought  to  aid  us,  in  the  manner  prescribed  by  its 
own  theory.  No  one  knew  this  better  than  Dunscomb  ; 
and  he  so  directed  the  reading,  thoughts,  and  feelings  of 
his  interesting  charge,  as  to  produce  an  early  and  a  very 
sensible  change  on  her  character.  The  tendency  to  in- 
sanity is  still  there,  and  probably  will  ever  remain  ;  for  it  is 
not  so  much  the  consequence  of  any  physical  derange- 
ment as  of  organization  ;  but  it  already  promises  to  be  so 
far  controlled,  as  to  leave  its  unhappy  subject  generally 
rational,  and,  for  most  of  her  time,  reasonably  satisfied. 

Dunscomb  had  several  interviews  with  the  vicomte — no- 
vicomte — whom  he  found  a  much  more  agreeable  person 


398  THE   WAYS   OF   THE   HOUR. 

than  he  had  been  prepared  to  meet,  though  certainly  ad- 
dicted to  snuff.  He  was  made  acquainted  with  the  mental 
hallucinations  of  his  wife  as  well  as  with  the  fact  of  their 
being  hereditary,  when  a  great  change  came  over  the 
spirit  of -his  dream  !  He  had  married  to  perpetuate  the 
family  De  Larocheforte,  but  he  had  no  fancy  for  a  race  of 
madmen.  Dunscomb  found  him  very  reasonable,  in  con- 
sequence, and  an  arrangement  was  soon  made,  under  the 
advice  of  this  able  counsellor,  by  means  of  which  Mildred 
virtually  became  her  own  mistress.  M.  de  Larocheforte 
accepted  an  ample  provision  from  the  estate,  and  willingly 
returned  to  Europe,  a  part  of  the  world  that  is  much 
more  agreeable,  usually,  to  men  of  his  class  than  our 
own  "  happy  country."  His  absence  has  proved  a  great 
assistance  to  those  who  have  assumed  the  care  of  Mildred's 
mental  state.  As  all  the  schemes  for  a  divorce  have  been 
discontinued — schemes  that  could  have  led  to  no  strictly 
legal  consequence — and  her  husband  has  left  the  country, 
the  mind  of  Mildred  has  become  calmer,  and  the  means 
have  been  found  to  bring  her  almost  completely  within  the 
control  of  her  reason. 

We  have  very  little  to  say  of  the  other  characters.  Timms 
is  still  himself.  He  boasts  of  the  fees  he  got  in  the  great 
Mary  Monson  case.  His  prospects  for  the  State  Senate 
are  far  from  bad,  and  should  he  succeed,  we  shall  expect 
to  see  him  whining  about  *'  republican  simplicity,"  abusing 
"  aristocracy,"  which,  in  his  secret  heart,  means  a  clean 
shirt,  clean  nails,  anti-tobacco  chewing  and  anti-blowing- 
the-nose-with-the-fingers,  and  aiding  anti-rentism.  He  is 
scamp  enough  for  anything. 

Williams  is  actually  married,  and,  in  reply  to  Timms's 
accounts  of  the  fees,  he  intimates  that  Peter  Goodwin's 
ghost  would  not  have  appeared,  had  he  not  "  been  choked 
off."  It  ought  to  be  strange  that  these  two  men  likeN  to 
boast  of  their  rascality  ;  but  it  is  in  obedience  to  a  law  of 
our  nature.  Their  tongues  merely  echo  their  thoughts. 

The  McBrains  seem  very  happy.  If  the  wife  be  an  "  old 
man's  darling,"  it  is  not  as  a  young  woman.  Dunscomb 
still  calls  her  "widow,"  on  occasions,  but  nothing  can  in- 
terrupt the  harmony  of  the  friends.  It  is  founded  on 
mutual  esteem  and  respect. 

Michael  and  Sarah  promise  well.  In  that  family,  there 
is  already  a  boy,  to  its  great-uncle's  delight.  The  parents 
exult  in  this  gift,  and  both  are  grateful. 

We  care  little  for  Jack  Wilmeter,  though  a  very  good 


THE   WAYS   OF   THE  HOUR. 


399 


fellow,  in  the  main.  Anna  loves  him,  however,  and  that 
gives  him  an  interest  in  our  eyes  he  might  not  otherwise 
enjoy.  His  charming  wife  is  losing  her  surperfluous  en- 
thusiasm in  the  realities  of  life,  but  she  seems  to  gain  in 
womanly  tenderness  and  warmth  of  healthful  feeling,  pre- 
cisely in  the  degree  in  which  she  loses  the  useless  tenant 
of  her  imagination. 


THE   END. 


NRLF 


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